Salvation
by Filthy Bunny
Summary: An alternative, darker version of events after AoD. One year on, Lara has given up adventuring, but her past has caught up with her. Kurtis is back, and he's not quite what she thought he was. Rated M for violence, swearing and sexual content. CHAPTER 13
1. Wasps in November

:o Hello everybody, let me first of all apologise for how long it's been since I posted anything. Mysterious Ways is still going, I promise, and I've written loads more from the end of the story, but I'm having temporary trouble getting the next chapter together and ready to post. Hopefully it won't be too much longer!

Anyway, this is a completely different version of how things could have gone after AoD, and has nothing to do with my other story. I felt the urge to take Lara and Kurtis in a very different direction, and here is the result (or at least the start of it). In this version of events, the Nephilim storyline is over and Karel IS dead, and Lara has given up adventuring. Rated R for violence and swearing (mainly from chap 2 onwards) so if that's not your cup of tea, be warned!

Hope you like it, let me know what you think J

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Chapter 1: Wasps in November 

I slammed the front door of the house hard against the icy November wind, smiling at the welcoming warmth within. The sun was bright outside, but the chill in the air was sharp as a knife, and there was still frost on the lawn from the night before. A few stray leaves had blown in through the door as I entered and now they lay scattered, brown and gold, across the polished tiles of the hall. I put down my bags and unwound the scarf from my neck. I had spent the morning in London, shopping for something to wear that weekend to the charity ball I was to attend with Daniel. Most of my wardrobe was black, and I had felt like a change, so I had been bold and splashed out on a full length red backless dress, decorated with jet beads, and shoes to match. It was rather ostentatious, and I still wouldn't exactly have counted clothes shopping as a hobby, but I had taken more than a little guilty pleasure in the purchase. I could almost see Daniel's jaw dropping when he saw me in it. As I hung up my scarf and long black coat, I noticed a large bouquet of flowers on the Venetian chest of drawers by the stairs, and grinned. Winston had put the flowers in water, but left the accompanying card propped against the vase for me to read. I walked over and picked it up, looking over the now-familiar handwriting. 

_Hope you bought something gorgeous for the weekend. Can't wait to take it off you. See you tonight. D._

Subtle as ever, I thought, and tucked the card into my pocket. I had been seeing Daniel for a couple of months now. We had been introduced by an old schoolfriend of his whom I had met in Florence that summer. On my return to England, Richard, the friend, had invited me to dine with him and his wife, and they brought Daniel along to make up numbers. It wasn't long before we were seeing each other regularly. Like me, Daniel was from a wealthy family but had no time for the snobs and fakes that populated the social circles he had grown up in. He had traveled extensively and was interested in art and history, so we had plenty to talk about, plus he was a keen sportsman, a fencing champion, so we were well matched physically. He was handsome, funny and clever, and never tried to rush me or quiz me about my past, so all in all I was very contented with the way things were going. 

I went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. I would spend a little while in front of the fire, curled up with the newspaper, and then maybe have a swim before I got ready for our date later. We were going to dinner with some friends of his, and I was quite looking forward to it even though socialising – like shopping – had never been my activity of choice before. 

To say that my life had changed a lot in the last year would be an understatement. Two weeks earlier it had been the first anniversary of Werner Von Croy's death, and the nightmares that had followed in Prague. After barely escaping the crumbling Strahov, I had been arrested and taken back to Paris to be questioned about the Monstrum killings. Before long new evidence had been found linking Eckhardt to the crimes, and I was released, but on my return home I had decided once and for all to put my old life behind me. Von Croy's death and my brush with the law, not to mention the threat of apocalypse, had convinced me that I had had more than enough danger for one lifetime. I had taken a research job at the British Museum to satisfy my interest in archaeology, and still worked out regularly to get my fix of adrenaline. My life was stable and enjoyable, if not thrilling, and I liked it that way. 

I poured boiling water into the teapot, and placed it on a tray alongside a cup and a jug of milk. I glanced again at the flowers in the hall as I took the tray into the living room. I set the tea down on the table by my favourite armchair, but then let out a sudden yelp of pain as I felt something sharp sting the back of my thigh. Probably just a wasp, I thought as I looked down, but even as the thought formed it seemed wrong. Wasps in the house in November? As I reached for the spot where the pain had hit, my vision lurched horribly. My fingers met something, hard and light, poking from the fabric of my jeans, but as I pulled at it the focus seemed to leave my whole body and I started to fall. The last thing I saw as I pitched forward onto the living room rug was a tiny plastic dart, bouncing once in slow motion as it fell from my hand, and then disappearing under the toe of a large, black boot.

* * *

I woke up in the dark, and felt the world swaying violently beneath me. After several groggy moments I realised that I was lying curled up on my side in the back of a van or truck of some kind. I tried to get up onto my knees, but my body wouldn't do what I asked it to and I just fell back onto my side. I lay there awkwardly, thinking of the nice cosy evening I should be spending with Daniel, the good food and drink I would now be missing. I thought sadly of the red dress, still beautifully packaged, lying abandoned in my hallway. It struck me as mildly ridiculous that these were the things going through my mind when I should have been worrying about where I was being taken, and by whom. A nagging suspicion gnawed at my mind that something from my past had caught up with me. Oddly enough, I felt more disappointed and angry than afraid, triggered by the thought that maybe I hadn't managed to put the past where it belonged after all. My safe, comfortable new life had proved to be fragile. But who would want me kidnapped? I had received no threats, and I certainly hadn't gone looking for any trouble in the last year. The enemies I had faced before were all dead now, mostly at my hands.

After a while the vehicle slowed, and I felt the vibrations of the wheels somewhere under me change as it drove from the road onto a different kind of surface. It came to a halt, the doors in the front of the van opening and then slamming closed. After a few moments and some fragments of muffled conversation, the back of the van opened and light spilled inside, blinding me. I was grabbed by two men and dragged out into what appeared to be a large warehouse. To my right, a huge door slid noisily shut behind the van. I tried to walk on my own but the drug was taking its time to wear off, and I stumbled. The men on either side of me yanked me upright and continued to pull me across the room, between stacks of wooden crates, towards a door. The warehouse was lit by fluorescent strips up above, and there were no windows, so I had no idea what time it was or how many hours may have passed since I was abducted from my home. The door in front of me was opened and I was shoved gracelessly into what looked like a small office. A single desk lamp stood on a folding table at the edge of the room, providing the only light. Apart from a wooden chair and some empty shelves on the walls there was no other furniture. The walls and floor were thick with dust and dirt, as thought the room had been unused for years. If I had been expecting some kind of an answer to my questions in this room, then it was well hidden. The panic was slowly building in me as my drugged senses gradually returned to full clarity. I turned to my 'guards', who now stood in the doorway, blocking the only exit in case I suddenly regained full control of my dopey limbs and made a run for it. 

"What am I doing here?" I asked them, keeping my voice steady despite the fact that I was growing uneasy. They didn't reply, but one looked back over his shoulder as he heard someone approach. He said a few words in what sounded like Russian, and another voice spoke in return from outside the room. There was something not quite right about the second voice, as though the speaker's accent didn't fit the language properly. A moment later I realised why.

The men in the doorway moved aside and another figure came into view between them, tall and dressed in a long dark coat. He was carrying a gun in one hand, and a large sports bag in the other, which he now tossed into the room. My jaw dropped open when I saw him. 

"What the fuck?"

The man stared back at me, unsmiling, his blue eyes as dark and intense as they had been the first time I came face to face with him.

"Hello, Lara," said Kurtis. "Good to see you again."

* * *


	2. Captivity

* * *

**Chapter 2: Captivity**

The last time I had seen Kurtis Trent, I had given up the last Obscura painting in exchange for his life. I was tired, breathless and soaking wet from my journey into the flooded Lux Veritatis vault under the Strahov, and I emerged to find Eckhardt waiting for me. After applauding my performance, he had left Kurtis and I to be eaten alive by one of his freakish creations, but Kurtis had helped me to escape so I could hunt Eckhardt down. I hadn't seen Kurtis again since that day, although I had reason to suspect he had survived the fight. When I returned to the arena after destroying the Sleeper, I found the monstrous corpse of Eckhardt's creature heaped close to the wall, but no sign of Kurtis. The mysterious weapon he used was lying on the ground, sticky with spilt blood, and when I picked it up it jumped briefly to life in my hand. As I made my way out of the Strahov, the building started to shake and crumble, the explosion in Eckhardt's lab causing the whole complex to slowly collapse. I got out relatively unscathed, only to be promptly arrested and carted back to Paris. Kurtis' weapon had been seized along with my other possessions, but to the surprise of myself and the police officers, it had disappeared by the time I was released without charge. I had wondered on several occasions whether Kurtis had come back for it himself, as impossible as it may seem. 

Now I was facing him once again, and this time I was his captive. I stared at him in disbelief, heart pounding and mind racing. Nothing made sense. _He_ was behind this? After what we had been through together in Prague? 

"You," I said. My mind was too confounded to manage anything more intelligent. 

"Surprised to see me?" he replied, putting the gun away into a holster under his coat. "You'd better get used to it. We're going on a long journey together."

"What's going on?" I demanded, voice growing more urgent. "What the hell do you want with me?"

"Me personally? Nothing. I was just sent to pick you up. My employer will be able to explain more when we get to him. I'm sorry we had to bring you in by force, but I don't think you would have come if we'd just asked nicely. As for what happens next, well, we're going to Egypt, I guess I can tell you that much." He spoke casually, as though he were almost bored, and it was that as much as the fact he had kidnapped me that ignited my rage. The mention of Egypt was an extra blow.

"I'm not going anywhere, with you or anyone else," I shot back at him. "Especially not Egypt. So you can tell your employer to go fuck himself. I'm retired."

He looked at me wearily. "As I said, I didn't think you'd come if I just asked. We'll be working together for a couple of weeks, nothing more, and as soon as we're done you can go back home and carry on your nice new life with your nice new boyfriend and forget it ever happened."

I couldn't tell if he was trying to infuriate me deliberately or not, but I became more livid with every word. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I realised that my body was back under my control again. I threw myself at Kurtis, catching him off guard fast enough to knock him off balance. As he staggered back I threw a punch into his face, striking him just below the left cheekbone before the Russian heavies managed to intervene and drag me away again. I was shoved against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from me, and I struggled desperately in their grip. 

Kurtis snapped at the guards in Russian, and reluctantly they let me go. He had straightened himself up again and stepped closer to me now, every movement as smooth and tightly controlled as a panther's. His expression remained disinterested as he slowly turned his head to the side and spat blood onto the filthy floorboards.

"Don't do that again," he said, a cold edge showing in his voice now. He said a few more words to the guards, who shuffled out of the room without replying, but kept his gaze firmly on me the whole time. "Okay," he continued when the door had been closed behind the henchmen. "Now, you're going to sit over here, and keep quiet. We won't be travelling for a few more hours so you may as well try to get some sleep. I'm going to sit over there in that chair and read my paper." He crossed the room towards the small table and, facing away from me, proceeded to take off his coat. He wore a black long sleeved t-shirt underneath, the familiar holster strapped across his back. The circular weapon I had carried from the Strahov was back in place, hanging from a loop on his belt. His body looked stronger and harder than the last time I had seen him, and it had been an impressive sight then. If I had opted for an easier life since leaving Prague, then he had clearly done the opposite, and I wondered whether I would really stand much of a chance against him if I tried to fight. The telekinetic abilities I had seen him use in the Louvre and the Strahov only did more to stack the odds against me, as did the new attitude he had adopted. I had seen the danger in his eyes when we had met before, including that night in the Louvre when he had snatched my guns and the Obscura painting away from me, but there had been warmth there, too; a spark of mischief that had intrigued me and invited me closer. I had found myself liking and trusting him. But there was no trace of that warmth now. The man before me was dark, closed, detached. He looked like a killer.

"I brought some of your things from the house," he went on, draping his coat over the back of the chair. He crouched down and unzipped the sports bag, which I now realised was one of my own. He pulled out a newspaper and, to my horror, a bottle of vintage red wine from my cellar. "Good year," he said dryly, looking at the label. "That should help me pass the time." He placed it on the table and carried on looking through the bag.

"You pathetic little thief," I hissed, but he ignored me. 

"I brought you some more clothes, and if you need any more we can pick them up for you in Egypt." He got to his feet again and took a few steps towards me. "This doesn't have to be hard if we just treat each other with respect. I'm willing to do that. You?"

"Is that supposed to be funny?" I replied. "What kind of a game do you think you're playing? I don't know what it is that you've got planned for me, but if you actually believe for a second that I'm going to cooperate when you've drugged me, abducted me from my home, stolen from me, locked me up in God knows where – then you're very much mistaken."

He shook his head. "Okay. You want to do it the hard way. I can't say I'm surprised. But I'm not giving you a choice. Just sit your ass down over there and shut up, and I'll keep out of your way. I just want to do my job." I watched him walk back towards the table, hating him more with every passing second.

"You disgust me," I spat. 

He turned on his heel and strode towards me, one hand pulling the gun from his holster and the other reaching for me. He grabbed me roughly by the shoulder and kept moving, pushing me back against the wall. Cold gunmetal pressed at my throat, stopping my breath. He leaned his face in close to mine, a look of bloodless fury in his narrowed eyes.

"I told you to shut up," he said through gritted teeth. 

"Fuck you," I gasped, not caring, nothing left in me but rage. The gun pressed harder and I started to choke. I kicked out wildly with one booted foot, making contact with one of his knees so he stumbled slightly, grip slipping from my neck. I pushed both hands hard against his chest hoping he would fall, but he kept his balance, although he had to swing the arm holding the gun away to do so. I gulped in air through my burning throat, and raised a fist to strike him.

Too late. He brought his free hand around and slapped me with great force around the face, sending me spilling to my knees. He moved behind me quickly, and while I was still stunned from the blow he shoved a boot against my back, forcing me down onto my belly on the bare floorboards. I let out a snarl like a trapped animal as he knelt down, one knee pressed painfully into my spine, and wrestled my arms behind my back. 

"I didn't want to have to do this," he said, and I felt him shift as he reached into the sports bag for something to tie me. I struggled against him but only succeeded in grazing my face and shoulder on the rough ground. 

"I'm going to kill you for this, you piece of shit," I swore as he wrapped thick cord around my wrists. He tied my hands tight, not enough to cut off the circulation, but tight enough that no amount of wriggling would free them. 

"Sure you are," he replied. He removed his knee from my back and rolled me over with one wide palm. I glared up into his face as he knelt over me, wishing more than ever before that I had his telekinetic powers so I could fling something into his arrogant, hateful head. He reached to pick up his gun from where he had laid it on the floor moments before, and trained it lazily on me. The murder in his eyes had faded now, and he regarded me now with quiet annoyance. He reached out his free hand to brush my cheek free of dust from my cosy contact with the floor, but I yanked my head away in disgust.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" he said, sounding almost tired.

"And you're dead, Trent," I snapped back, pulling my knees up so I could maneuvre myself into a sitting position. He stood up.

"Well, sweetheart, you sit there and think over all the terrible things you're gonna do to me when we get to Egypt, and I'll go read my paper." He slid his gun back into the holster at his side, and returned to his seat. 

I sat up and rested my weight against the nearby wall, watching him. He uncorked the wine and took a swig directly from the bottle, then sat back with his paper and lit a cigarette. He was clearly ignoring me on purpose, faking indifference to get me even more riled. It was working. All I could think about was hurting him, pounding my fists and feet into his stupid body until he stopped moving. Spurred on once more by the thought, I clambered to my feet and ran at him.

I certainly achieved the element of surprise, Kurtis only looking up just in time to see my foot fly towards his chest. The spinning kick sent him sprawling to the floor, wine bottle smashing beside him. I relished the shock in his eyes as he gaped up at me, and made to kick him in the side of the head. But before my foot make contact I felt the ground shift beneath me, and I was thrown back across the room by an invisible force. I collided with the wall, bound hands flaring with pain as they were crushed behind me. 

Kurtis was on his feet again. "Fucking _bitch," he cursed, brushing himself off. He picked up the toppled chair and walked towards me with it held out in front of him like a lion tamer. I was winded, and stunned at the speed of his reflexes. He slammed the chair down next to me and yanked me to my feet. _

"Don't you dare fucking move," he said, and went over to the table. In spite of all my instincts to attack again while his back was turned, I stood still, body aching, not wanting to suffer any more damage. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the bag that lay by the table, and came back towards me.

"Take a seat," he said. 

I wasn't going to be ordered around, no matter how grim my chances were. "Go to hell."

He grabbed me by my upper arms and forced me down into the chair, then crouched down to wrap the tape around both of my ankles in turn, binding them tightly to the chair legs. He straightened up and placed his hands on the back of the chair, to either side of me, tipping the chair back slightly as he did so. I could smell the red wine and cigarette smoke on his breath as he leaned in close, his warm scent heavy on my senses. 

"Have you decided how you're going to kill me yet?" he said, voice barely above a whisper.

I stared coldly into his dark blue eyes, wondering whether I would gouge them out before or after I removed his entrails. "Very slowly," I replied.

He actually smiled then. "I can hardly wait," he murmured close to my ear, and stood up. The chair shifted forwards again as he let go. He looked me over thoughtfully for a moment, like a painter at his easel, and then grabbed the chair and turned it around so I was facing the wall. I heard him move away, and a moment later, the rustle of his newspaper. 

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:o Well… there we have it, chapters 1 and 2. Feedback would be much appreciated as always, especially about NASTY Kurtis. I have some more of this written, so there should be an update quite soon… if anyone wants to read it that is! Later, bunnies J


	3. Hands Off

:o Aww thanks for the appreciative comments guys ^-^ Hope you don't mind Evil Kurtis all that much, he isn't going anywhere... but don't worry, Lara won't be giving him an easy time.   
  
Jewell: ahem! *taps foot impatiently* Just what exactly happened to Treacherous Endeavor? Get writing, or you're out of the Order! ;)  
  
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Chapter 3: Hands Off  
  
I woke in the morning in a lot of pain. My neck was so stiff at first from sleeping in such an awkward position that I could barely move it. My eyes were dry and gritty, and the inside of my mouth felt like old carpet. During the night I had acquired another strip of duct tape, this one across my mouth, when Kurtis had tired of my continual insults. That hadn't stopped me from bothering him, however; I simply moved on to rocking my chair back and forth so that it banged loudly against the floor. He was really irritated by that point - I gather I was preventing him from sleeping - and he came over and spun my chair around to face him. I smiled behind the duct tape at the weary annoyance in his face, but went cold when I saw a lethal-looking syringe in his hand. He noticed my panic.   
  
"Don't worry, it's just gonna knock you out for a few hours," he said. I shook my head furiously as he reached for my arm. "If you'd behaved yourself then I wouldn't have to," he went on, crouching down to unbutton the cuff of my blouse. I didn't have much room to move, but pulled my arm away as firmly as I could. He looked up into my face and sighed. "Can I actually trust you to keep quiet for the rest of the night?"  
  
I stared back for a moment, part of me still longing to do the opposite of anything he said, but I didn't want to be drugged twice in the same day. I nodded slowly.  
  
"Okay," he said, standing again. "But make another sound, and -" He waggled the syringe at me as a reminder. I imagined sticking it into one of his eyes.  
  
He turned my chair around again, and I sat glaring at the wall for a while, not wanting to sleep in case he decided to violate my personal space further. Eventually I slipped out of consciousness anyway, exhausted by the day's events. As if shopping in London wasn't tiring enough, I thought in drowsy amusement as my eyes closed.  
  
* * *  
  
When I awoke and tried to raise my head, my neck and shoulders let out such a scream of pain that I moaned aloud. I heard movement in the room behind me. Moments later I felt a hand on my neck, rough fingers stroking appreciatively against my skin. I froze. If this was Kurtis' idea of foreplay he was in for a nasty shock. I shook my upper body despite my stiffness, and dislodged the hand, but another grabbed hold of my braid and yanked hard. My head tipped back to look into a pair of beady eyes, not blue but brown, ogling me like a centrefold. I recognised the man as one of my guards from the night before, and quickly added him to my list of future torture victims when he reached around me and started groping at my breast. I thrashed in the chair, making as much noise as possible, hoping that at least I could tip the chair over and break the brute's foot. He chuckled and squeezed harder. As he was reaching down towards my thigh I heard the door open behind him, and the ugly piece of shit looked round.  
  
"What the fuck?" said a familiar voice, and seconds later my suitor was dragged backwards.   
  
"I didn't do anything," he protested. His accent sounded eastern European.  
  
"No touching, Vadim, it's that fucking simple," Kurtis said amidst loud thumps. Vadim groaned at the blows, to my immense satisfaction. I twisted my head to look around at the two men, and saw Kurtis drag the heavy lump to his feet and shove him towards the door.  
  
"I catch you doing anything like that again, you're a dead man," he said breathlessly. The door slammed. My chair was turned around slowly, feet scraping across the wooden floor, and I was facing Kurtis again.   
  
"You okay?" he asked. Since I couldn't speak, I had to communicate my reply with the most withering look I could muster. Kurtis reached out and pulled the tape from my mouth. I winced, eyes stinging, as it took a few scraps of dry skin from my lips with it. I opened my mouth and took a few deep breaths. Kurtis was holding a bottle of water, and he held it towards me now, a drinking straw poking from the neck of the bottle. I eyed it suspiciously, closing my mouth again. I was desperately thirsty, so much so that I still couldn't talk, but I was wary of anything he offered. The thought of giving him the satisfaction of feeding me was also pretty appalling.   
  
"Come on," he urged. "It's just water. You need to drink something." I looked at it for a moment, then took the straw between my lips and drank deeply. I drained half the bottle before he pulled it away, the water feeling better on my parched tongue and throat than I could have imagined. I gasped, still not completely refreshed but feeling infinitely better.   
  
"Better?" Kurtis asked.   
  
I frowned at him. "Slightly."  
  
"Still mad at me, huh?"  
  
"I'm not even going to warrant that with a response," I snapped.   
  
Kurtis sighed. "I'm sorry about Vadim. I won't be asking him to watch you again."  
  
"Sorry to hear it. Even with his sweaty, disgusting hands on me he was an improvement on your company." My voice was still hoarse.   
  
"At least I keep my hands to myself, Croft."  
  
I snorted. "So throwing me around, tying me up and strapping me into a chair counts as keeping your hands to yourself? I'd hate to see you get really frisky."  
  
"I did what I had to. Trust me, I won't lay a finger on you unless absolutely necessary. You're probably poisonous."  
  
"Well, at least we agree on something. Touching me would be a bad idea."  
  
He nodded. "I suppose you don't want me to do that up for you, then?" He pointed at my chest. I looked down and noticed that one of the buttons on my blouse had come undone while Vadim was grabbing me. I glared back at Kurtis, who smirked and drank some water from the bottle.  
  
I chose to ignore his last comment, as much as it enraged me. "So, do I get anything to eat? Or have you decided I need to lose a few pounds?"  
  
"Later," he said. "We'll be clearing out of here soon. You'll be able to eat, get cleaned up, and change your clothes on the boat."  
  
"Boat? You're taking me to Egypt on a boat?"  
  
"Yep. You even get your own cabin."  
  
"Sounds luxurious. I can hardly contain my excitement."  
  
He smirked again at some private joke, then reached out and stuck the tape back over my mouth.   
  
"I'll be back for you soon. My men will be right outside." He went to the door and opened it, turning back at the last moment to look me over. He winked, and closed the door behind him. The death I had planned for him was getting more gruesome by the minute. And if I ever caught him looking at my cleavage again, I would make it worse.  
  
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:o Feedback please! 


	4. The Majestic

:o Hello! Happy New Year everybody. Yes, I'm still alive, and yes, I'm really really really really really sorry for not updating in such a long time. You may poke me with sharp pointy sticks as a punishment.  
  
Thankyou everyone for the reviews, e-mails, death threats etc :D It means a lot to me that you enjoy what I write. There will be more very soon on both my stories, so keep posted. Anyway, without further ado, here's the new chapter. Hope it was worth waiting for :/  
  
Chapter 4: The Majestic  
  
I wasn't alone for too long. After around half an hour, Kurtis returned, and took a knife from the sports bag.  
  
He walked towards me, and held the knife out so the tip almost touched my throat.  
  
"Don't try anything, okay?" he said coldly. I nodded.  
  
He crouched down and cut the tape from around my legs, peeling it free of my jeans. He stood up and gestured for me to do the same. I stretched each leg slowly, and got tentatively to my feet. My spine creaked and ached terribly as I straightened it. Kurtis picked up the sports bag from the floor and put the roll of duct tape and his newspaper back inside, then scooped up his coat from where it had fallen on the floor.  
  
He took hold my one of my arms, which he had chosen not to untie, and steered me towards the door. We made our way back through the dingy warehouse to the wide bay doors. The van was still standing there, the two Russians leaning against it, smoking cigarettes. From outside I could hear the screech of gulls and realised we must already be near the sea. Vadim went round to the back of the van and opened the doors. I was cold, and Kurtis saw me shivering. He put down the sports bag and draped his long coat around my shoulders. Then I was bundled into the back of the van once more, and we set off for the harbour.  
  
* * *  
  
After what seemed like an eternity of being jolted around in the back of the van as it stopped and started, I felt the vehicle drive slowly up an incline, presumably the ship's ramp. I wondered what kind of stinking hulk I was to be traveling on, and prayed that it didn't have anything to do with fish. I didn't think I could stand the smell.  
  
After some time I heard the great vibrating groan of engines start up. I had the horrible thought that maybe Kurtis was going to leave me in the van for the whole journey, bringing me food and water every now and then. Had the promise of a private cabin been his idea of a joke? I prayed that at least he would have the decency to untie my aching arms and take the tape from my mouth. Despite my mental and physical discomfort, I found myself starting to be lulled to sleep by the steady hum of the ship's engines, surprisingly warm with Kurtis' coat wrapped around me. I was grateful for it, even though it smelled of him and his cigarette smoke.  
  
The sound of the rear doors opening snapped me back to reality, and I looked up at the square of light at the back of the van. Kurtis and another man I hadn't seen before stood there, framed by the open doors. Kurtis reached in to help me out, but I avoided his touch and clambered out on my own. He took hold of my shoulders and turned me around so I faced away from him, pulled off the coat, and started to cut through the bonds at my wrists. My hands free at long last, I reached up and pulled the tape away from my mouth.  
  
As Kurtis and his companion led me wordlessly away from the van, I looked around, trying to gather an impression of what kind of vessel we were traveling on. There were no other vehicles parked nearby other than a small white truck that looked as though it was used to transport refrigerated food. We headed for a narrow metal staircase, spots of rust showing through the white paint on the steps and handrail. We ascended several flights until we reached a wide door with a circular pane of glass in its centre. Kurtis pushed the door open and I followed him through it into a square room containing cleaning equipment and metal lockers. From there we passed though into a large kitchen, where several members of staff bustled about with bowls and trays.  
  
"What the hell?" I wondered aloud, as I passed a large tray of chilled desserts set on the worktop. Kurtis said nothing in reply, but cast me another look of secretive amusement over his shoulder.  
  
Bewildered, I followed him through another door leading from the kitchens into a tiled corridor. We crossed to a service elevator and the other man pressed the 'up' button. To our right, double doors led into another room which I could glimpse through the glass panels. Although it was poorly lit I could tell from the flashy décor that it was some kind of huge, grand dining hall. My eyes widened. The lift door slid open in front of us, and I was helped inside with a shove from Kurtis.  
  
I turned to him. "What's going on?" I demanded. "What the hell is this? Some kind of cruise liner?"  
  
"That's exactly what it is," he replied, jabbing a button to take us several floors further up. "The Majestic. Only the best for our Ms. Croft," he added, raising an eyebrow at me.  
  
I sighed. This situation was becoming more bizarre by the minute. "Are you going to explain why you're taking me to Egypt on a cruise ship instead of by plane?"  
  
Kurtis shrugged. "Well, we're not in a great hurry. And we get to travel for free because we have an. arrangement with the owner of the ship. Plus we can do a little sightseeing on our way." As usual, he wasn't telling me anywhere near everything. I wanted to ask more, but the lift opened again and I was led off along another corridor.  
  
This level seemed to be mostly made up of cabins, with gilt numbers on the polished doors that lined each thick-carpeted hallway. The man with Kurtis seemed to know where he was going, and finally we stopped at the end of one of the corridors. He knocked four times on the door, which had no number, but rather a brass plaque reading 'Benchley Suite'. A moment later the door was opened and another man came into view. He let our guide through with a nod, then turned his attention to Kurtis.  
  
"Kurtis," he said cheerfully, and held out his hand. He spoke in a slight French accent.  
  
"Good to see you, Paul," Kurtis replied, shaking the other man's hand. We were beckoned through into another, wider corridor. Paul looked at me appreciatively as I passed him.  
  
Ahead of us a few carpeted steps led up to a large lounge area furnished with fat leather couches and mahogany tables. The Russians from the warehouse were up there with two other men, adding their own charmless personality to the room as they slouched on the sofas, smoking and drinking brandy. Doors led off from the corridor to my left and right, all closed but one. I could hear voices coming from the open door, and longed to see who was inside. Kurtis must have noticed my intrigued expression, because he caught me by the elbow and steered me away towards one of the other doors.  
  
"Didn't I promise you your own cabin?" he said as he swung the door open.  
  
The room was spacious and beautifully appointed. A double bed stood against the opposite wall, laid with perfect white sheets and pillows. A suitcase sat on the floor beside the bed. I wandered through the room, taking in the fine ocean views through the large windows, and peered through an open door into the en-suite bathroom.  
  
"So, what do you think?" he asked.  
  
I turned back towards him. He was over by the bed, unzipping the suitcase. I stared at his back silently, still barely able to believe this was the same man whom I had met in Prague. I had thought we could trust each other, that we had something in common. He had seemed. good, no matter how corny that sounded.  
  
"What the hell happened to you, Kurtis?" I asked quietly.  
  
He turned to face me. "What do you mean?"  
  
"In Prague, you told me you wanted justice. I must have mistaken that for meaning that we were on the same side."  
  
"I went after Eckhardt to settle the score. I did. End of story."  
  
"Bullshit!" I snapped. "I settled the score. I don't recall you being anywhere in sight when I was finding the last Periapt shard, or fighting Eckhardt, or destroying the Sleeper. You'd be dead if it weren't for me."  
  
"Is that so? I seem to remember you putting me in mortal danger more than a couple of times."  
  
I lowered my voice again. "You're pathetic, Kurtis. And a coward. You know I'm right. You owe me one, isn't that what you said once? What kind of repayment is this?"  
  
He turned his face away, and continued pulling things out of the suitcase. "Sorry, babe," he said. "The business with Eckhardt was personal. This isn't. A man has to make a living."  
  
I glared at him long and hard. So it was money that motivated him. Cold, hard cash for a cold, hard bastard. If I had ever thought I saw a similarity between us, I must have been insane. Alongside my disappointment and disgust at Kurtis, I also felt horribly betrayed by someone I had once put my trust in. While his murdered father had been worthy of justice, I clearly wasn't. In Prague I thought we had had a spark between us, gained one another's respect as well as that nagging physical attraction. But now I was just a price tag.  
  
"Your father would have been so proud of you," I said icily.  
  
I saw his shoulders tense. He stood still and silent for a moment.  
  
"You don't know anything about me, Lara," he said eventually. "So don't try to understand what I do, or why I do it." His voice, though calm, carried a hint of threat, and I realised with no little satisfaction that I had hit a nerve.  
  
"What is there to understand?" I replied. "You commit crimes for people, they pay you. It sounds fairly simple to me."  
  
"Wow. Looks like you have me all figured out." He glanced at me over his shoulder and I saw the amusement in his eyes. I tried to ignore it.  
  
"So what's all this?" I asked, gesturing towards the case and its contents.  
  
"Some more of your clothes. They were sent down this morning." He picked up a pair of black knickers between his forefinger and thumb. They had to be among the skimpiest I owned. "Pretty," he said, smirking.  
  
I snatched them from his hand, fuming. "Is there anything else? Or can I please be left alone for a while?"  
  
"There's nothing else for now," he replied, loving every second of my discomfort. "But I'll come back and get you in a little while. The boss wants to meet you."  
  
With that he turned and left the room, pulling it closed quietly behind him. I was left standing there, lacy knickers still in hand, wondering why such a pig-headed bastard managed to get under my skin so easily. I sank down onto the bed, the soft duvet terribly welcoming after spending the previous night trussed up in a cold warehouse. Any minute now, I told myself, I'll get up and have a shower. But my aching body protested, and before long I was asleep, dreaming fitfully of Egypt and darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
There should be more soon as the next chapter is nearly done too. Let me know what you think! Review.. Review.. REVIEW! 


	5. Old Friends

coughs nervously Um, hi... I haven't been around for a long time, I was finishing my final year at uni, so please forgive my absence. Anyway, for anyone that remembers it, 'Salvation' is back from the dead, with a shiny new chapter :)  
  
Chapter 5: Old Friends  
  
I couldn't have had more than two hours sleep before I was woken by a loud knock on the door. I sat up immediately, head spinning slightly from sleep and disorientation. The room had grown gloomy since I fell asleep, and glancing at the window I saw that the sky had darkened to a thunderous grey outside. I got to my feet as the door was pushed open.  
  
"Ready for your next meeting, Croft?" Kurtis asked, leaning in the doorway with a cigarette.  
  
I glared at him and then shrugged. "I don't suppose I have time for a shower first?"  
  
He shook his head. "You'll have plenty of time later. Business first."  
  
Resigning myself to the present situation, I smoothed down my crumpled shirt and followed him out into the hall. He led me into another room furnished with a large mahogany desk and leather chairs, and reproduction Gainsboroughs on the walls. A laptop computer and some maps and other papers were arranged on the desktop. There was no one else inside. While Kurtis went over to the window and finished smoking his cigarette, I stood facing the desk with my arms folded, and listened as the sound of voices approached from the corridor outside. I had a combined feeling of dread and curiosity. Whatever purpose I was here for, it certainly wasn't going to be a holiday; even so, I hated being left in the dark and the sooner I found out who was behind all this, the better. A moment later three men entered the room, speaking Russian in low, serious tones. I recognised two of them as the heavies from the warehouse, but my view of the other man was obstructed until he walked around the desk and stood facing me. I looked back at the large man with his short grey beard and cold eyes, and let out a gasp of shock.  
  
"Gunderson?"  
  
I stared at the man in astonishment. I had first glimpsed him a year ago in Paris, as bullets and broken glass had flown at me across a room in the Louvre. The same room where I had first encountered Kurtis mere moments before. Later I had learned Gunderson's name from Luddick in Prague, and seen him one final time as he threw Kurtis into the pit where we faced Eckhardt's monstrous creation. I had assumed Gunderson had died in the rubble along with his master and fellow Cabal members, and yet here he stood before me. But what shocked me the most was the fact that Kurtis was working for his enemy's former henchman.  
  
"You worked for Eckhardt," I said to Gunderson, looking from him to Kurtis as I spoke.  
  
"Not intentionally, I assure you," Gunderson replied coldly. He pulled out the green leather chair and sat down, placing his huge square hands in front of him on the desk. I looked back, unenlightened.  
  
Kurtis spoke up on his colleague's behalf. "Eckhardt didn't have many true allies," he began. "But he was able to gain control over people with that glove of his, and by manipulating Gunderson he was able to build himself a nice little army. An army I used to belong to, in fact."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mr. Trent used to work for my organisation, before Eckhardt killed his father and took mental control of me and my other men."  
  
"What kind of organisation?"  
  
"None that you will have heard of. Military, you could say. Trent was always one of my best men."  
  
Kurtis smiled dryly. "Why thank you, sir." I got the feeling that Gunderson's 'organisation' was probably some kind of mercenary team who did the sort of work no-one else wanted, or dared, to do. A perfect career choice for a moral-free bastard like Kurtis, then.  
  
"But that's not important," Gunderson continued. "I take orders also, and our current operation is to retrieve something of great value from a tomb complex near El Kes, Egypt. That's where you come in, Croft." He spoke matter-of-factly, as if I had gladly signed up for this delightful mission.  
  
"Is that so?" I snapped. "And what if I just tell you to go fuck yourself?"  
  
Gunderson turned his flat grey eyes on mine. He hadn't really looked at me until this point.  
  
"If you were to do that, Croft, I would have to take extreme measures to convince you otherwise."  
  
My eyes narrowed. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking him what he meant, but I had to know what they were up to. I glanced over at Kurtis, but he was facing away from me, looking out of the window at the sea.  
  
"Why do you need me anyway?" I asked instead. I gestured towards Kurtis. "Why not just use your golden boy here? I'm sure he'd willingly do whatever dirty work you have planned."  
  
"Oh, Trent will be integral to this operation. But having worked with you before, he assured me that you have certain talents that will also be crucial to us."  
  
Anger pulsed inside me like hot lava. "I don't do that any more. I retired after the business with Eckhardt. I'm probably not even capable of it any more."  
  
"Is that so?" Gunderson seemed unconvinced. "Trent informs me that you still possess your old reflexes." I imagined Kurtis reporting back to his boss how I had fought with him in the warehouse the night before, how he would have interpreted it as some kind of a fitness test. I felt sick.  
  
"I won't work for you," I said levelly, a trace of menace in my voice. "And I certainly won't work with him," I added looking again at Kurtis.  
  
"We are not stupid, Miss Croft," Gunderson replied. "We didn't expect you to be easily persuaded. That is why I have sent some of my men to your home, where they are currently holding two of your friends. One is an employee of yours, James Winston. The other is a personal friend, Daniel..."  
  
"Cavendish," Kurtis said, finishing off for him. "A very personal friend." I felt suddenly cold, my shock and fear for Winston and Daniel taking over from anger. But then Kurtis turned back from the window to look at me, and his expression, cool and distant yet amused, caused my rage to return at full force. I leapt towards him, blood pumping furiously, ready to gouge out his eyes with my fingers. Before I could cover half of the distance between us I was grabbed by the two men behind me and shoved into a chair by the desk. A gun clicked and was raised to my head. I sat facing Gunderson across the dark, polished wood, unable to look at Kurtis again in case my anger got too much for me again. I didn't want my head blown off just yet.  
  
Gunderson continued in his gruff Germanic voice. "These two men will be held until you have carried out the duties given to you. If you refuse or fail, they will be killed."  
  
"How do I know you're not bluffing?" I replied, glaring.  
  
Gunderson motioned to one of the guards, who opened up the laptop computer sitting on the desk and turned it towards me. He tapped in a command that opened up a video file. As I watched, the entrance hall of Croft Manor appeared on the screen, the picture shaking as a camera was carried unsteadily across the room.  
  
"I received this footage by e-mail earlier this morning," Gunderson said as I followed the cameraman's progress across the hallway and, to my horror, through the secret door hidden in the panelling underneath the stairs. They had clearly done their research. "It confirms that your friends are alive, but held securely." Sure enough, at the bottom of the gloomy staircase that led down to my secret room, the dim light revealed a group of figures on the screen. Two were armed and dressed in black combat gear, faces hidden by balaclavas. The other two were sitting slumped on the stone floor, wrists and ankles in bag-ties. Winston was as white as a sheet, and looked terrified and ill. Daniel's head was hanging down but I recognised his tousled, sandy hair. One of the armed men yanked his head up for the benefit of the camera. I held back a sob as I saw the blood on his face, still pouring from a deep cut under his right eye. He seemed barely conscious.  
  
I closed my eyes and tried to suppress the anguished shudder that was building in me. Not just my own life, but the lives of two people very dear to me, depended on my compliance with this criminal and his gang of thieves. But even then, I thought grimly, I had no reassurance that we wouldn't be killed anyway once I had played my part. I would have to tread very carefully.  
  
I opened my eyes again and stared back at Gunderson, who was watching me expectantly.  
  
"I'll do what you want me to. But if they get hurt, I will destroy whatever it is that you want me to collect for you. Understood?" Gunderson nodded, although he didn't appear to be concerned. "And I work alone. I don't want him anywhere near me," I went on, pointing at Kurtis.  
  
"You will have to collaborate at times, but no more than necessary," Gunderson replied. I frowned. Kurtis managed to give me a look that was at once smug and passionless.  
  
I exhaled slowly. "Fine. So what happens when I'm finished running errands for you?"  
  
Gunderson managed to sound convincing even though I was sure his response was a lie. "You will be returned to your home. Your friends will be released, and you can continue life as normal. We will contine to monitor you for our own security, but we will not contact you again."  
  
He stood up and gestured that I should do the same. The Russian's gun edged away from my temple enough for me to get to my feet.  
  
"You will be returned to your quarters now. Trent will inform you when you are needed."  
  
There was still so much that I needed to know. What was expected of me; who Gunderson was working for; what would happen if I did retrieve this mysterious artifact for them. Whatever it was, I doubted that it was wanted for its ornamental value. I had put powerful weapons into the hands of one crazed megalomaniac too many, and I didn't relish the thought of doing it again. But I didn't want to risk trying Gunderson's patience by asking all this now. Perhaps I could get some more information from Kurtis. No doubt I would be stuck with his company for most of this awful trip.  
  
Well, if anyone's still reading this, please review! I have a lot of chapter 6 written as well so I should be able to post that quite soon. Later, bunnies! :D 


	6. Assignment One

Wheee! More already! XD Thanks for the reviews people. But I'm quite shocked that you don't seem to like Daniel... how could this be? (snickers) Hehe. Enjoy.

**Chapter 6: Assignment One  
**  
When I got back to my room I went straight to the bathroom and locked myself in. I wanted to be clean even more than I wanted food, and I was ravenous. After leaving Gunderson's office, Kurtis had promised to bring me some food, but I had no idea how long that would take. I eyed the flimsy bolt on the bathroom door doubtfully, then went back to the bedroom and fetched the wooden chair from in front of the dressing table. With the chair jammed under the door handle I felt slightly more comfortable about undressing and taking a shower. I needed time alone without interruption to come to terms with what was happening here.  
  
As I unravelled my long braid in the steaming water, I thought about what Gunderson had said. Something about 'certain talents' of mine that would come in useful. My knowledge of Egyptian tombs and ancient hieroglyphs would almost certainly be required. How much did Kurtis and Gunderson know about my last experience in Egypt? Did they realise I had come closer to death than ever before? That the experience had forever changed me, deep down, and that I had barely been able to even open a book on Egypt since? As I fumbled with the lid on the shampoo, I realised my hands were shaking. The bottle fell from my hands and I sank to my knees in the bathtub, suddenly weak. I don't know how long I sat there, arms curled tight around my knees as the water poured down over my face, blank with despair. I was trapped between two of my greatest fears: ahead of me lay Egypt and its dark secrets; behind me, my loved ones were held in mortal danger.  
  
Some time later I returned to the bedroom wrapped in a bathrobe and sat down at the dressing table to dry my hair. As I shifted in my seat the doorway to my room came into view in the mirror, and I jumped as I saw someone standing there. Kurtis stood there watching me, a bulky package under one arm. I switched off the dryer and put it down.  
  
"What do you want?" I asked without turning round.  
  
"Paul's just fetching you something to eat," he replied casually.  
  
"It's about time," I muttered, pulling a comb through my damp hair. He was still there watching me when I glanced up at my reflection again.  
  
"What is it?" I said impatiently. "No wait, don't tell me. You've decided to supervise my mealtimes. To make sure I don't conceal any cutlery to stab you with at a later date."  
  
He smiled lazily. "No. We've got a job for you."  
  
I scowled, and turned to face him. "I thought my services weren't needed until we got to Egypt. Or do you need help tying your shoelaces?"  
  
"Ha ha," he replied, straight-faced. "True, we need you in Egypt, but the operation starts on board this ship. You don't think we always travel by cruise liner, do you?" He wandered over to the bed and put down the package he was carrying. "There's a man on board the ship who knows a lot about the region where the artefact is buried. He's something of a tycoon; owns a lot of land out there, and funds a lot of research. The artefact that we're looking for is in part of an ancient city still half-buried under land that he controls. Our employers have been trying to get onto this land for a long time, offering all kinds of deals to get to excavate there. So far, he's rejected them. He's used to foreigners sniffing around for anything valuable, and he suspects that they're onto something big. Now he wants to find out what it is for himself."  
  
I didn't blame him. I could feel an itch of curiosity growing in my own mind as Kurtis talked. He was being deliberately vague about the artefact and his employers, and although my head was filled with questions I bit them back, not wanting him to see how interested I really was. "So where do I fit into this?"  
  
"That's easy. You're Lara Croft; famous adventurer, expert on Egyptology, blah blah blah. He likes to think of himself as quite the expert too, so he's likely to want to show off about all his investments. There's an event in the ballroom after dinner tonight, for the first night of the cruise. All we want you to do is go along, get talking to this guy, act like he fascinates you. He'll love it. And the best part is that he has absolutely no reason to link you to our employers."  
  
I frowned. "So basically, you want me to flirt with him, and then report back to you. It's not exactly the most elaborate plan I've ever heard."  
  
"Well, we have faith in your abilities," Kurtis smirked in reply. "I'm sure you can charm the pants off the guy without even trying." I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "Hey, I didn't mean literally."  
  
I turned back to the mirror and carried on combing my hair. "Well, you've obviously thought this through well. So, what would you like me to wear? Jeans? Or shorts, maybe?"  
  
"Don't worry about that," he said, and started to open the package that lay on the bed. I turned and looked at it. The square white box looked familiar. I stood up and crossed to the bed, and pulled open the box. My heart sank into my toes. The red dress I had bought in London lay carefully folded inside, black beads glinting seductively. The matching shoes were there too, nestled in amongst the tissue paper. Suddenly I had a lump in my throat. The dress brought back only too vividly how my life had been before Kurtis had forced his way back into it.  
  
"No," I said.  
  
"No?" Kurtis replied, confused.  
  
"I won't wear this."  
  
"Why not? You bought it. At least you know it fits."  
  
I glared at him. "I bought this dress for a date with my boyfriend. The boyfriend your colleagues beat up and have hostage in my cellar, in case you're confused. The boyfriend I may never see again because of you. There's no way I'm going to wear this dress." I threw the lid of the box back down onto the bed.  
  
"Oh yes, Daniel. What a guy." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "You know, by doing this, you're helping him as well as us."  
  
I grimaced at the way he was twisting the situation. "Don't try to be smart, Kurtis. It doesn't suit you." I walked back to the dressing table, but instead of sitting down I stood looking out at the sea.  
  
"So, are you in love?"  
  
"Fuck you," I shot back over my shoulder.  
  
"Hey, that's a little harsh. I was only asking a question."  
  
"Well don't bother."  
  
He wandered over and stood beside me, arms folded, staring out over the ocean. I refused to look at him. After a moment he spoke.  
  
"I don't get it, Lara. Settling down in your big old house, nice boyfriend, charity balls, shopping for accessories in London. It just doesn't seem like you."  
  
"You're talking as though you know the first thing about me. You don't."  
  
"Yes I do," he replied. In the corner of my eye I saw him turn to face me. "I know how fast you can run. I know what a good shot you are with a pistol. I know how hard you can kick," he continued, amusement in his voice at this last remark. "I know the look in your eyes when you're on the trail of something really special, when you're about to solve some ancient mystery. And I know how much you hate it when a piece of that puzzle gets taken from you."  
  
An image flashed into my mind: a darkened room in the Louvre, lined with glass cases. A gun pressed against my neck, and a warm, strong hand making its way down my arm, relieving me of my weapons. Spinning round to face the man who had stolen my Obscura painting, only to be met by the most striking, hypnotic eyes I had ever seen...  
  
I shook the image from my thoughts. "I'm not interested in that life any more," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.  
  
"Of course you are," he replied. "It's in your blood."  
  
I turned to him now. "Maybe it relieves your conscience a little to imagine that I'm secretly enjoying being a part of this grimy little operation. Actually – forget I said that. You don't have a conscience." His expression didn't even flicker at this comment, although that didn't surprise me. "But the truth is that there's a lot more to my life than tombs and dungeons. I've risked my life once too often."  
  
Kurtis stepped closer to me, and without speaking reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear. The gesture was so casual and unexpected that it caught me completely off guard. He was standing close enough for me to have delivered a really good punch, knock him out even. But I felt suddenly powerless, too bewildered to even bother moving, and I just stood there as he looked me over. I stared at him, the dark blue eyes that assessed everything but never seemed to show concern; the dark shadow of stubble on his cheek and chin; the muscles in his neck and throat as he tilted his head to look at me. Despite my hatred I wished I knew what he was thinking, or whether he was thinking anything at all. It had been easy and convenient to dismiss him as a greedy, heartless gun-for-hire, but in truth he confounded my understanding, a puzzle I had no idea how to solve.  
  
Thankfully, the moment was disturbed by another knock on the door. Kurtis turned away from me and went to let in Paul, who was carrying a tray laden with what looked like quite an impressive feast. My stomach growled impatiently, but I waited for both men to leave before I started eating. Following Paul out of the room, Kurtis stopped in the doorway and turned to face me again.  
  
"Be ready for eight o'clock," he said simply, and shut the door behind him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next chapter will take me a while because it's likely to be quite long. I'll try my best to get it up next week though


	7. Undercover

I wrote this and chapter 8 as one chapter, but it was a bit too long so I've separated it into two (hence the double post). Enjoy :)

. . . . . . .

**Chapter 7: Undercover  
**  
I dressed for the evening get-together with a sense of complete dread. It wasn't the thought of what I was expected to do that galled me; if this man was as wealthy and connected as Kurtis had described him then I wouldn't feel like such a fish out of water. I was not expecting to like him particularly, but I had met hundreds of men like him and I knew how to act around them to get to the information I wanted. Rather it was the prospect of stepping out in my most feminine and glamorous finery under the watchful eyes of Kurtis and his associates, and parading around as the pretty face on their sick little operation, that left a distinctly sour taste in my mouth.  
  
At five to eight, there was a brisk knock on my door.  
  
"Are you ready yet?" Kurtis called impatiently from the hallway.  
  
"No," I snapped back, still applying make-up to the dark rings under my eyes. I wondered who had had the presence of mind to pack make-up for me. A couple of layers of foundation had taken care of the faint bruising on one cheek from where Kurtis had wrestled me to the floor in the warehouse.  
  
"Well hurry up. It's nearly eight."  
  
"If you'd rather wear the dress and do the flirting, be my guest," I yelled back, seething. "If not, then shut up and give me a few more minutes."  
  
I emerged into the hallway a few minutes later, so anxious that I was afraid of losing my dinner. Kurtis and Paul were standing in the corridor talking in low voices, facing away from me. They turned as they heard the door close, and I looked away to avoid their gaze. I noticed despairingly that they were both in evening dress; surely they weren't going to be following me around all evening? Skin burning under Kurtis' perusal of my figure, I turned and walked briskly up the corridor towards the lounge area where Gunderson and another of his cronies were waiting.  
  
"Gunderson," I said, my tone business-like. If I was going to get through the evening then I would just have to bite the bullet and do what he wanted. "I'm ready. What's the plan for tonight?"  
  
Thankfully he barely even glanced at my attire. "You will go down to the ballroom for the event. Trent and Bazinet will escort you." Kurtis and Paul had followed me up the hallway by now, and stood nearby. "There will be some kind of speech and introduction first; this will be a good time to locate the target."  
  
"I don't suppose you're going to tell me his name at any point?" I interjected. "I'm not psychic."  
  
Gunderson frowned at me, but nodded. He took a folder from the man standing beside him and removed a large black and white photograph. "Ibrahim Mahmoud El-Aziz," he said, passing the picture to me. I studied it, storing the man's face in memory for later. He was a large man in his fifties, his dark face framed with immaculately coiffured white hair. "He is traveling with a small group of staff and friends, and he keeps a high level of security at most times. Be aware of this, and make an effort not to appear suspicious."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "You don't have to worry about me," I told him. "Those two, on the other hand-"I gestured towards Kurtis and Paul – "stick out like a sore thumb."  
  
"Miss Croft, I hope you are not expecting me to let you attend the function alone."  
  
"No, I suppose that's a little optimistic." I looked at the two men, summing up their appearance. "Okay, fine. He can escort me-"I pointed at Paul, who admittedly looked rather slick in his tuxedo and black tie – "but the other one isn't to come anywhere near me." Paul grinned at Kurtis, who looked less than impressed.  
  
Gunderson watched me patiently. "And why is that?"  
  
"Well, for starters, he looks terrible. I've seen eleven-year-old schoolboys who looked smarter in a shirt and tie. We wouldn't convince anyone if we turned up together. Also, he's obnoxious and aggressive and would almost certainly do something to blow my cover."  
  
"Hey, what the fuck does that mean?" Kurtis protested. I fought back a smile, my point proven. Gunderson considered my argument for a moment.  
  
"There is no time for another of my men to get changed, so Trent will join you to the ballroom. But he will stay at a distance, and maintain regular contact with us. Bazinet will act as your companion at the function, but you will approach El-Aziz alone." He motioned to Kurtis to fetch something. "Of course, we will need to monitor your conversations with him, so you will wear this." Kurtis appeared at my side, holding a tiny wireless microphone in his open palm. Oh, wonderful, I thought.  
  
I had to stand there numbly while Trent fastened the mic to the top of my dress, being deliberately clumsy with his fingers against my bare shoulder. I shot him a murderous look as he stepped back, his expression blank but his eyes sparkling with mischief. God, if he ever dared to touch me again -  
  
After checking that the microphone was working properly, I was led out of the suite and back towards the elevator we had ridden earlier that day. It already seemed like a week ago. Paul chatted to me as we walked, his manner relaxed and friendly. He seemed to have picked up some of the social skills Kurtis was lacking.  
  
"So, Lara," he said jovially. "What does a retired adventurer do with her time? How do you get your kicks?"  
  
I looked at him doubtfully, checking if he was sincere. He seemed inoffensive enough. "Well... I do research at the British Museum. I work out. I meet interesting people." Although I was doing my best to pretend he wasn't there, Kurtis' eyes never left me, and the skin of my bare arms and back prickled with discomfort. I was hesitant to mention Daniel again, but I couldn't help rubbing his nose in it. "And I'm involved with a charming, intelligent, gorgeous man. I am – or at least I was – very happy."  
  
We had reached the elevator now, and stood waiting for it to ascend to our floor. Responding to what I had said, Kurtis shrugged. "Doesn't sound very exciting."  
  
"Excitement isn't everything," I replied, too hastily. As soon as the words had left my lips I realised how foolish they sounded. Kurtis looked at me with an almost imperceptible smile, which told me that he knew exactly how important excitement was to a girl like me. The lift arrived and we stepped into its mirrored interior in silence.  
  
As we rode down, Kurtis checked his reflection. "Fucking schoolboy," he muttered, fiddling with his tie. After a few moments of this, I sighed.  
  
"Oh, for God's sake. I'll do it." I reached for his tie and tweaked at it with expert fingers, frowning at the mess he'd made. "There. Perfect." As I pulled my hands away, I grazed his jaw line with the back of my fingers, only slightly, but enough to feel the short growth of stubble there. An unwelcome shiver went through me, and I quickly turned away, folding my arms across my chest.  
  
Finally the lift doors opened and we emerged near the doors of the ballroom. The doors were open now, and we were greeted by the sound of voices and tinkling glasses against a background of Mozart. I put my arm through Paul's and we entered together. I let out a sigh of relief as we saw Kurtis heading away from us towards the bar.  
  
Paul saw my reaction and spoke. "Well, I must say, you two are getting on like a house on fire." I looked at his deadpan expression, then laughed suddenly.  
  
"Very funny," I replied. He grinned, and we made our way towards a vacant table, attracting a number of interested and appreciative glances from the people around us.  
  
"So what about you?" I asked him. "How did you get involved in such an honourable cause as Mr. Gunderson's?"  
  
He smiled, unoffended. "I have worked with him for many years. Like Kurtis, I used to be in the Foreign Legion. As a matter of fact, we shared barracks for some time."  
  
"Lucky you."  
  
"We were recruited by Gunderson at around the same time, although we usually worked on different operations."  
  
A thought occurred to me. "I don't suppose you were part of his group while he was working for Eckhardt?"  
  
Paul looked sideways at me, slightly shamefaced. "Regrettably, yes. The power the Cabal had over us was quite incredible. I was with Gunderson when he stormed the Louvre."  
  
I was taken aback. "Really? Well then, you're lucky I didn't kill you."  
  
"Indeed," he replied respectfully. "Perhaps I was hiding under the stairs somewhere." I laughed again. I found it hard to believe that someone who seemed so agreeable could possibly be involved with heavyweight criminals like Gunderson.  
  
"Tell me," I asked, curiosity taking over. "Why didn't Kurtis get brainwashed along with the rest of you?"  
  
"Ah, well. Kurtis had disappeared a little time before. I think perhaps he suspected that something was happening, that someone was influencing Gunderson. He vanished, and we did not see him again until the business in Paris. That was after Eckhardt had killed his father." He narrowed his eyes suddenly. "But I should not be telling you all this. I suspect that you will be a tricky customer, Lara Croft."  
  
"Oh, you can count on it."


	8. Contact

**Chapter 8: Contact**

As it turned out, my task for the evening was far easier than I had expected, and took very little effort from me. After the welcome speeches had finished, Paul made himself scarce so that I could track down El-Aziz. Before I had even finished scanning half the crowd from my table, someone appeared at my side. I looked up and was surprised to recognise the man from the photograph, dressed in a white tuxedo.  
  
"Excuse me," he said, his voice deep and rumbling, "But are you Lady Lara Croft?"  
  
I smiled. "As a matter of fact, yes I am." He offered me his hand, which I shook graciously. "Do I know you from somewhere?"  
  
"We have never met in person, no. My name is Ibrahim Mahmoud El-Aziz," he said, smiling broadly as he shook my hand. "Please, forgive my interruption, but I was sure I recognised you."  
  
"Not at all," I replied sweetly, and gestured to the seat beside me. "Please, would you care to join me, Mr. El-Aziz?" He settled his large frame in the chair, and poured me a glass of champagne from the bottle he had been carrying.  
  
"Call me Ibrahim," he chuckled, showing rows of bright white teeth capped with gold. I smiled. This job was as good as done.  
  
We made small talk for a while, and I closed in on the first opportunity I got to talk about his business in Egypt. Knowing what he already did about my life, this did not arouse the slightest suspicion, particularly since I was sure to mention my retirement from archaeological adventures. Kurtis and Gunderson had been deliberately vague about the details of the tombs and what was buried there, so my enquiries were limited, but I dug around for what information I could about the land he owned.  
  
The volume of the music had been raised a few notches as we talked, and looking around I noticed that a number of guests were dancing in couples on the dance floor near the stage.  
  
"Lara, would you give me the pleasure of a dance?" El-Aziz asked, and I accepted. The man seemed rather egotistical and domineering, and I wasn't over-enamoured with his company, but drinking champagne and talking archaeology was certainly more fun than my last twenty-four hours had been. We continued to talk as we danced, and I was about to move in on something he had mentioned in passing – the name Cynopolis – when we became aware of a presence close by. My back stiffened immediately as I turned and saw Kurtis standing there.  
  
He smiled warmly at El-Aziz. "Pardon me, sir, but would you mind if I stole the next dance with this lady?"  
  
I spoke up before my companion could reply. "Thankyou, but I'm quite happy where I am." I gave him a smile that could freeze hell. Unfortunately El- Aziz was feeling generous.  
  
"No, Lara, as much as I would like to, it would be selfish of me to keep you to myself all evening. I will fetch some more drinks." He withdrew his hand from around my waist and faced Kurtis. "You may have your dance, but please, do not steal her away for too long."  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed as the Egyptian retreated towards the bar. "I'm really getting somewhere with him. Isn't that what you wanted?"  
  
"I needed to talk to you," he replied quietly. He grabbed my hand and pulled me reluctantly towards him, pressing his other palm against the bare skin of my back. I stood rigidly, glowering at him.  
  
"Christ, woman, would you just dance?" he muttered. Swallowing my anger as best I could, I placed my hand on his shoulder and started to move slowly in time with the music. Being this close to him reminded me of our first contact in the Louvre, the gentleness of his touch in sharp contrast with the cold steel pressed at my throat. There was no gun this time, but I felt just as vulnerable.  
  
"So? What do you want?" I asked, trying to maximise the distance between my hips and his. His eyes wandered from my eyes to my lips, then down my neckline to the scattering of black beads across my breasts. I trod on his foot to bring his attention back.  
  
"Gunderson wants you to get yourself introduced to El-Aziz's crew. We think some of them are here at the moment, but we hardly know anything about them."  
  
"Why? What does he want to know?"  
  
"Whatever you can find out. Get introduced so we know their faces. Find out names, what jobs they do, anything you can. It might help us to infiltrate the complex."  
  
"You don't have their names already?" I asked in surprise.  
  
"No. They're all traveling under a group name, so we can't find out through their booking details. They're a secretive bunch."  
  
"I can hardly blame them," I replied dryly. "There are spies everywhere, you know."  
  
His hand shifted slightly lower on the curve of my back, and he leaned in closer. "One more thing," he said. "Take it easy with the champagne, okay? You've been knocking them back at quite a rate all night."  
  
"Go to hell," I snapped, trying to keep my voice low. "I'm doing what you asked me to, I'm getting the results. I don't need advice on how to behave from a primitive ape like you."  
  
He gripped my hand tightly, squeezing down on my fingers. "You should learn to watch your mouth," he said calmly, his eyes cool once more.  
  
"Fuck you, Trent." I tugged my hand free of his grasp and pulled away. "And I thought I told you never to touch me."  
  
I turned and stormed away through the crowd. Through a small cloakroom near the bar were the restrooms, and I hurried into the ladies' room, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying bang. No one else was inside. I looked at my reflection in the large mirror above the washbasins, face flushed and body shaking with rage. How was I possibly going to survive this trip if he kept getting under my skin like this? I leaned against the washbasin trying to regain my composure, reminding myself over and over that I had to keep my cool for Daniel's sake, and for Winston's. Kurtis Trent was a mere annoyance; he was nothing.  
  
"Nothing," I said into the mirror, face set in determination. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath, and heard the door swing open behind me. My eyes snapped open again, but before I could even register Kurtis' reflection, he had crossed the space between us and seized me tightly by my upper arms. His frozen eyes met mine in the mirror.  
  
"You shouldn't be playing these games with me, Croft."  
  
"Get off me," I warned, trying to shake him away. He held on tight, pinning me between his body and the washstand. "Go and crawl back under your rock." His fingers dug painfully into the flesh of my arms, making me wince.  
  
"Don't push me," he said menacingly, lips close to my ear. "I would eat you alive."  
  
I stared back at him in silent defiance. He lowered his head slightly until I could feel his breath on my shoulder. When he spoke again his voice was no more than a whisper, and I felt the barest of touches as his lips brushed feather-light against the skin of my neck. "Or maybe... you want me to."  
  
I bit down on my lower lip to stifle the shudder that ran through me. "Stop it," I breathed.  
  
He stood there for a moment longer, intense blue gaze trapping mine in the mirror, then released me and walked away. I watched him leave the room without looking back, then sagged against the washstand, my energy drained. As the imprints of his fingers still burned on my skin, I told myself again that he was nothing; nothing at all.

. . . . . . .

:p That's it for now... but I'm bored at the moment so I'm already writing the next chapters. Thankyou for all the reviews so far :) Please let me know what you think about these updates, especially about the interactions between Lara and Kurtis.


	9. Bargaining

**A/N**: Happy New Year to everyone! I'm back, and at long last I've been writing again. Since I finished Mysterious Ways I've been making a start on its sequel, but thanks to some new reviews and pokes from you lot I've been getting on with this fic too. Thankyou to everyone who has reviewed and given me that much needed kick in the ass: Lunar Nightley, Odd Little Turtle, Bluekrystal, AcidRush, Khaleda… I salute you! :D

**Chapter 9: Bargaining**

At the end of the evening I was escorted back to the Benchley suite, thoroughly drained of energy after several hours making nice with El-Aziz and his companions in the dining hall. Trent's behaviour earlier in the night had made it twice as difficult for me to feign a relaxed and friendly air around my new acquaintance, and the effort had exhausted me. The balls of my feet throbbed in the stilettos, and I was desperate to get out of the dress and into bed, but sadly that had to wait as I was summoned immediately to the room Gunderson had set up as his office.

Paul had accompanied me back in the elevator, and he followed me into Gunderson's room and closed the door. I neither knew nor cared what had happened to Kurtis, but after the confrontation in the bathroom he had thankfully disappeared. Perhaps he had tripped and fallen overboard, I thought hopefully as I waited for Gunderson to finish looking over his documents and acknowledge my presence. Eventually he pushed aside the papers he had been perusing and met my eye.

"This evening went well," he said gruffly. "Your cooperation has been useful to us."

I raised an eyebrow. "If that's your way of saying thankyou, then don't mention it," I replied dryly. His stony face remained grim and expressionless, and I found myself trying to imagine if he was capable of smiling. I couldn't picture it. I reached up to the strap on my dress and removed the tiny microphone Kurtis had placed there earlier, putting it down on the desk in front of Gunderson. "So, I take it you know that El-Aziz has invited me to lunch with him tomorrow," I went on. "Shall I go?"

He pondered the problem for a moment, trying to decide whether I could be trusted with the task.

"I believe I should," I offered, while he was still chewing it over. "He may become suspicious if I don't show my face again for the rest of the trip. And if I can actually form a friendship with El-Aziz then we have an opportunity to learn much more about the site, and his own excavations."

Gunderson paused for a little longer, and then nodded. "Your conversations must still be recorded," he said, gesturing towards the miniature microphone.

"Of course," I replied calmly. Anticipating his next condition, I spoke again quickly. "But I think I should go alone from now on. No escort hanging around like a bad smell. It's a lot more difficult to keep up the pretence if I'm making up excuses for them being there."

Gunderson narrowed his eyes, but nodded once again. "Very well. But if I suspect you are using this meeting to try and warn El-Aziz, or to make your own escape, then I will not hesitate to act. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard. The threat was intended to remind me that I was not the only one in danger; two other lives depended on my cooperation with Gunderson. "I understand," I said quietly.

"Very well. You may go now. I will speak to you again before you meet with El-Aziz tomorrow." He turned away from me to attend to some other matter, but I had to grab this chance to bargain with him.

"One more thing," I said. He looked up in mild irritation, clearly not used to people interrupting his concentration. "You've told me what I'm going to do for you, but there's something I want in return."

Gunderson leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. "Yes?"

"I want to see them," I went on, making sure I kept my voice steady and clear. "Daniel and Winston. Before I lift a finger to help you, you have to prove to me that they are alive and being well treated."

"You are really in no position to be bargaining with me, Ms. Croft," he replied, voice rumbling with annoyance.

I stared back unfazed, determined to hold my ground on this matter. "Perhaps not," I went on, "but are you really in a position to refuse me? I'm not asking for a lot. Do this for me and I will cooperate fully. If you don't, then I will have to assume my friends are already dead, and I will do everything in my power to stop you from reaching Egypt." I stopped then and waited, my words hanging heavy in the air between myself and this man I knew only to be a ruthless commander and killer. Had I gone too far?

After an agonising silence, Gunderson spoke. "I will give you what you ask for."

"Proof of life. Every day," I said, pressing my conditions firmly. He gave a short, sharp nod before turning away again.

"Now go," he snapped, and I gladly went. "Paul, send Trent in," I heard him say as I stepped out into the hallway. He sounded angry, and not just because of our conversation.

Desperately weary, I reached for the door to my room and let myself in. As I was about to close the door again behind me, Paul called out to me. I looked out to see him leaving Gunderson's office and walking towards me.

"Is there anything I can get for you before you go to sleep?" he asked amiably, and for a moment all I could do was stare at him blankly, still stunned by how different his manner was to that of his colleagues.

"Um…" I rubbed my head, thinking, and remembered that I had been trying to ignore a headache for the last hour. "Could I have some aspirin? My head is pounding after all that talking. Not to mention the champagne."

Paul smiled and nodded. "I'll see what I can do." I watched as he wandered casually back down the corridor towards the lounge area, then closed the door and flicked on the lights. I let out a sigh as I sank down onto the bed, and bent down to take off my shoes. Before Paul could return, I quickly slid out of the dress and put it on a hanger in the wardrobe, then pulled on a t-shirt - Kurtis' cronies had failed to pack a nightgown - and the thick white bathrobe. I was sitting cross-legged on the bed brushing my hair when I heard raised voices from across the hall. Gunderson's booming tones were easy to identify even when muffled by the walls between our rooms. I went to my door and opened it a few inches to listen. After a moment I heard Kurtis' voice raised in loud protest at something his superior had said, only to be drowned out again by another verbal barrage from the other man. My curiosity piqued, I strained to make out what was being said, but they seemed to be speaking in German, a language for which I have little affection and even less knowledge. I frowned. At our 'meeting' earlier that day it had seemed as though Kurtis could do no wrong in Gunderson's eyes, so what had happened since then?

I jumped in surprise as Paul appeared suddenly in front of me. Smiling sheepishly, I opened the door wider.

"I thought you'd had enough espionage for one evening," he said wryly, holding out a hand to reveal two small white tablets.

"Thanks," I said, taking them. At that moment the door to Gunderson's office burst open and Kurtis stormed out, still dressed in his suit but looking extremely ruffled, his face as dark as thunder. Without passing a glance in mine or Paul's direction, he stalked down the corridor to his own bedroom and went inside, slamming the door.

"What was that all about?" I wondered, looking at Paul's equally stunned expression.

**A/N:** Sorry if that chapter was a bit heavy on dialogue and a bit light on Kurtis. That will all be remedied in the next chapter, which is almost finished and just needs some final tweaking. ;)Oh, and I'd also like to apologise for not reviewing anyone else's stuff lately… I rarely get time to sit and read through anything on the site so I'm really behind with all your stories. At some point I'll put everything on disc or print it all out so I can catch up! :)


	10. Too Close For Comfort

**A/N: **Whoo! Here I am again with a fresh new chapter, with more Kurtis this time as promised. Those of you who've been hankering for some more sexual tension will hopefully be happy. ;)

**Chapter 10: Too Close For Comfort**

After that night I barely saw Trent for several days. Instead, Paul accompanied me when I left the suite. I met with El-Aziz for lunch on the second day as planned, and then again on subsequent days. The Egyptian tycoon seemed quite taken with my company, and I took every advantage of our meetings to probe him for information about the excavation site. For the most part I was just myself, and didn't need to come up with any elaborate stories to pull the wool over his eyes.

The only times I was worried about raising his suspicions were when we docked at the stop-off destinations along the way. I, of course, didn't have a chance in hell of being allowed off the boat until we reached Egypt, even with an escort. Gunderson wasn't as foolish as some of my previous 'employers'. Natla and Willard, for example, had both underestimated me, only realising what a serious threat I posed to them when it was already too late. Gunderson knew better, and made sure to keep me under close supervision at all times. During the stop-offs I was held prisoner in my own room most of the time with an armed guard posted outside in the corridor. Making excuses to El-Aziz was tricky; the evening before we docked in Lisbon, I called him to say that I had a nasty stomach bug and wouldn't be able to join him on land. After that I came up with a story about being tired of sight-seeing, and all I really wanted to do was enjoy the luxuries of the liner. Miraculously this seemed to do the trick, and he disembarked at the ports in Morocco and Algeria without me.

While we were at sea, and Gunderson was content that I wouldn't try to abandon ship, I had more freedom. Paul accompanied me when I wasn't with El-Aziz, and I was allowed to visit the impressive gym and swimming complex on the lower decks. Occasionally Kurtis or one of the Russians would call by to pass on a message to Paul, but otherwise I seemed to have been entrusted to the Frenchman's guardianship. This was definitely a good thing, and helped me to stay out of trouble with Gunderson. Unlike his colleagues, Paul was amiable and relaxed, and had a particularly wicked sense of humour, so I didn't begrudge spending time with him. In the gym I could let out all the tension that had built up during the periods when I was locked up in my room, rather than taking it out on my captors. My obedience was vital here until I could figure out a way of escaping that would not jeopardise Winston and Daniel's safety.

To my extreme annoyance, the fact that Kurtis was out of my sight did not mean he was also out of my mind. I found my thoughts returning to him time and time again, working me into a slow-burning rage that I would then take out on my own body through a vigorous work-out, or on the nearest punchbag in the gym. I was growing obsessed with thoughts of the bloody retribution I would bring down on him, just as soon as I had the chance to do so. I blamed him for all of this.

We were somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean when the hostility between Kurtis and I came to a head. I had no plans with El-Aziz that day, and so I had been in the gym all morning, working off some of the boredom that built up over the long days at sea. I had even sparred with Paul a little, which was an interesting change to working out alone. Despite his easy-going temperament, he had alarming strength and speed when fighting. I made a mental note of his strengths in case I came up against him in a less friendly situation later. After the gym we were thirsty and he decided that there would be no harm in going for a drink in one of the bars near the dining hall.

We got a bottle of red wine and sat talking about trivial matters: movies, music, the places where we grew up. With the wine flowing and the informal atmosphere, I had almost managed to convince myself that all was well. Sadly the illusion didn't last very long. In the middle of an anecdote about my parents' house, I glanced up to see Kurtis striding across the room towards us. My voice trailed off and I felt my good mood sinking like a stone.

He stood by the table, irritation pulsing from him, and I wondered how long he'd been looking for us.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

I scowled. "Oh, bloody wonderful."

Paul grinned, and raised his glass to Kurtis. "Look! It's Kurtis. I too think you are bloody wonderful. What may we do for you, my friend?"

Kurtis' eyes narrowed. "Are you both drunk?"

I looked at Paul. "I'm not drunk. Are you?"

He scratched his head. "I don't think so. We've been drinking all this wine, but it just doesn't seem to be working. I think we should complain."

"Absolutely," I said, trying not to laugh. "Well, would you look at that. There's a bottle of wine right here." I picked it up – it was our second, or possibly even third bottle - and started sloshing some more into my glass. Kurtis reached across the table and wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle, pulling it away from me.

"That's not very nice," I pouted. I turned to Paul again. "Did I tell you he stole a bottle wine from my house?"

"No," Paul gasped in pretend shock. "I hope it wasn't expensive."

"'Fraid so," I replied. "A rather lovely 1998 Zinfandel."

Paul shook his head at Kurtis. "That's a very bad thing to do, Kurtis. Stealing such a lovely wine. From such a lovely lady. In France, stealing wine from a lady is a capital offence."

"Really?" I said loudly. "What about stealing my knickers? He did that too."

"Ah, well, Lara, you cannot expect a man to resist stealing your panties. Especially someone like Kurtis. You know, when we used to share barracks he was forever stealing mine."

That was it. I cracked up. A couple of elderly toffs at a nearby table looked around disapprovingly as I shrieked with laughter.

"Jesus Christ," Kurtis growled. "What the hell were you thinking, Paul? We're supposed to be keeping a low profile here."

I sniggered. "Well we _are_ keeping a low profile, but people keep noticing you, then they come up to us and saying 'Who is that funny man dressed as a cowboy?' and we have to keep coming up with excuses." He gave me a withering look which caused me to giggle even harder, until even Paul had to cover his mouth to hide his mirth. "So really, you're the one who's blowing _our_ cover," I finished, my voice wandering between exaggerated seriousness and shaky laughter.

"You're coming back up to the suite now. Both of you. Before you do any more fucking damage."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, piss off and let us have a drink."

He leaned down over the table and looked me in the eye menacingly. "Just keep your mouth shut, or-"

"Or what? You'll hit me? Tie me up? Great cover, Kurtis." My voice was getting louder again. "Why don't you wave your gun around a bit too? Shoot a couple of chandeliers, maybe? There might be some people on board who still _don't_ know I've been kidnapped."

He grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me from my seat and towards the corridor.

"Hey!" I protested, wriggling in his grip. Behind us I heard Paul get up and call to Kurtis to calm down, but Trent simply cast a look over his shoulder and told him to back off. He hauled me into the deserted passageway outside the bar while I let loose a string of insults that would have made most men blush.

He shoved me roughly into the wall, winding me. "I've told you before, and now I'm telling you again, don't fuck with me. You've got way too much to lose."

"Thankyou so much for the reminder," I spat, my every word dripping venom. "And thankyou again for bringing me on this lovely little trip. Let me ask you something. What exactly did I do to deserve such special treatment? After doing every _fucking_ thing you people have told me to, and letting you treat me and the people I love like dirt, why now do I get to be kicked down yet again by you? Why the hell did you have to drag me into this, you _bastard_? _Tell me!_" I yelled.

"Are you really so self-obsessed that you think this is all about you?" he hissed back. "I've told you before, we're here to do business. I do my bit, you do yours, Paul does his, and nobody ends up having to hurt anybody else. I don't give a shit about anything else."

"No? So why are you breathing down my neck when I'm already doing everything you want? What do you think I was trying to do in there? Get so drunk I fell overboard and escaped?" As we locked horns, something started to dawn on me: the reason he and Gunderson had been arguing that night. It was because he _couldn't_ keep things strictly business with me, no matter how hard he tried. Gunderson must have heard the way Kurtis had spoken to me in the bathroom that first evening and realised just how dangerous it was to let us get close to each other. That was why Paul had been escorting me instead, and Kurtis had stayed in the background. He'd been told to keep away. My eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Why can't you just keep the hell away from me? What are you trying to achieve by torturing me like this? Do you _want_ me to fail?" My voice, like my body, was shaking with anger, ready to explode.

"You think _I'm_ torturing _you_?" he snarled. "Jesus Christ. It's not my idea of fun having you around. It's a fucking nightmare. Having to spend every day near you, hearing your voice, watching you act so innocent while you work your way under everybody's skin. You're driving me fucking _crazy_."

"_Good!_" I yelled. "I hope it kills you!"

I turned to stride away towards the stairs, but Kurtis grabbed me by the shoulder, fingers digging into my collarbone. He spun me round and pushed me back against the wall.

"Don't walk away from me."

I slapped his face with as much force as I could, watching the skin redden where my hand had struck. He wrestled with me, trying to get hold of my wrists as I struck out at him again and again, landing blows on his face and chest. It barely slowed him down at all, and he kept coming at me, pitching his weight against mine to limit my movements.

"I fucking hate you," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"Tell me something I don't already know," he said, glaring back at me. He snatched my forearms and pinned them down at my sides, crushing my elbows against the wall. I let out a gasp of pain and rage, struggling for freedom but only succeeding in pressing our heaving chests closer together. His eyes blazed from between the unruly locks of dark hair that hung in his face, twin blue fires fuelled further by every ragged intake of breath.

His anger was turning into desire now, and I realised with horror that mine was threatening to do the same. In a single quick motion his hands were on my back, sliding under my shirt, squeezing me tightly against him, and his mouth was on mine. Impulsively my eyes closed and my lips parted, the tip of his tongue pushing against them. The feel of his lean body pressed close to mine was dizzying, and a shiver of excitement ran down my spine as I suddenly imagined how good it would feel to be naked with him, how good he would feel inside me. But that was just my body talking, and I refused to give in. Instead I jerked my head back from his, and wrenched my arms up to form a barrier between us. I pushed him away, and he let me withdraw, looking half angry and half ashamed.

I backed away, still stunned by the kiss, then turned and ran back into the bar.

"Take me back to the suite," I told Paul, who looked up in surprise at my thunderous expression. _"Now,"_ I ordered as he opened his mouth to speak. He grabbed his jacket and followed me out into the corridor and towards the stairs. I shot a quick look back along the hallway. Kurtis was still standing there watching us leave, a hand raised to his lips in grim confusion as though he had been bitten.


	11. Overwhelmed

**A/N: **Oh yes. It's back. After... who knows how many months:P To those of you who have continued to write reviews and poke me to update, thankyou so much, and I'm really really sorry it's taken so long! I was ridiculously stuck on this chapter for ages. But _hopefully, _the contents will help to make up for the long wait. ;) So, without further ado... chapter 11!

**Chapter 11: Overwhelmed**

Late that night I lay in the dark cabin, curled up tightly in the bedsheets, trying desperately to empty my mind. After a while I realised it wasn't just my mind that was the problem. My heart was pounding, my stomach fluttering anxiously. The harder I tried to push away thoughts of Kurtis, the more vivid and insistent they became. His touch had been electrifying. Kissing him had felt amazing, although it was torture to admit it. I tried to replace his image in my head with Daniel's, lovely charming handsome Daniel who was probably thinking about me too right now. Wondering where the hell I was, worrying about what might be happening to me. But his face refused to stay focused in my mind and kept slipping away, leaving me alone with these hot, desperate feelings. I could still almost taste Kurtis, feel his fingers on my back.

I rolled over, eyes wide open in the gloom. The problem was that I had always been attracted to Kurtis. Our first meeting, over a year ago in the Louvre Gallery, had been almost as tantalising as our first kiss. He was such an enigma then, this complete stranger who had held a gun to my throat and looked into my eyes as though he knew me better than I knew myself. In all our time in Paris and Prague we spent only minutes in each other's presence, but we had an effect on each other that kept him in my mind long after he was gone from my side.

I had had to forget him when I went back to England, especially when I decided to put my tomb raiding days behind me. But I realised now how often I must have thought of him even then, maybe without realising it. When I saw him in that dockside warehouse, despite my anger and confusion at the situation, I felt as though I had been waiting for him.

I turned over again and buried my face in the pillows. I felt so ashamed of how my body had responded to Kurtis' earlier. He was hateful, he was pathetic, he had no interest in me other than as something to trade for a nice big fee. Why should I feel so confused when that was all painfully clear? I screwed my eyes up tight, trying not to imagine how awkward I would feel the next morning, and how hard it would be to look him in the eye. I had no way out. I was trapped on this ship, I was trapped by my hatred of Kurtis, and I was trapped by my desire for him.

I got out of bed and went into the small bathroom. In the dark I ran cold water over my hands, then splashed some on my face. The action achieved little, but it felt better than lying in bed agonising over every thought. I think it was while I was dabbing my face dry on the towel that I felt something give way inside me, some trigger that seemed to switch all of my fear and indecision into a cold, unshakeable determination. If the episode with Kurtis earlier that day proved anything, it was that I must be starting to lose my mind. Well, no more. I had played along with this insane trip for long enough.

I had to escape my captors tonight. And for that to happen, they all had to die.

Back in the bedroom I took my suitcase from the wardrobe, and without turning on any lights I felt around for a pair of combats and vest top. I dressed swiftly and wound my hair into a tight braid, noticing that even as the adrenaline was pumping around my body, a welcome sense of calm and purpose had arisen in my mind, clearing away the previous conflict. I left my boots by the bed, choosing to go barefoot and thus almost silent, and let myself out into the corridor. There was no external lock on my door, and no guard outside, but the main entrance to the suite had been set up with some kind of electronic locking device and alarm. That obstacle did not bother me too much; by the time I had to get through it, Gunderson and his men should be in no condition to stop me.

I moved across the hallway and down to the next door, my bare feet making no sound on the thick carpet. This was Kurtis' room. Several long, uneasy moments passed as I stood by the door, listening for any noise from within. Nothing. I put a hand on the doorknob and turned it, very very slowly. It was unlocked. I slipped in through the door and closed it soundlessly behind me, heart pounding. I could hear steady, sleeping breaths from somewhere to my right. The curtains at the wide window were still open, and outside a full moon hung in the clear black sky, making it easier for me to make out the shapes of furniture as I scanned the room for what I needed. I crept over to a leather chair that stood by the door to the en suite bathroom. Kurtis' clothes were slung over the seat, and I carefully moved the garments aside until I felt the cold, hard shape of his gun, still in its holster. I slid it silently from the leather sheath and tucked it into the waistband of my combats before resuming my search. Attached to the belt on his trousers was the circular bladed weapon I had seen him use in Paris and Prague. I left it where it was, too nervous of its strange powers to want to try using it myself, but found a small folding knife in one of the pockets I explored. I withdrew the blade and tested it against my thumb; it was sharp. The knife gripped tight in my hand, I turned and walked towards the bed.

Through the shadows I could make out his figure, lying on his back with his head turned away from me, one hand resting palm-up on the pillow beside him. Sheets covered him up to the waist, but his chest was bare. He didn't stir despite my closeness. I fought to keep my breathing quiet and even.

This should be easy. All I had to do was reach down, pull the blade across his jugular, and my worries would be as good as over. The other guards would be easy to take care of in comparison. It was Kurtis, with his telekinetic advantages and superior fighting skills, who was really standing in my way. This was what he deserved, and once it was done I would take his weapon and finish off the others. Gunderson would have to be next, wiped out before he could send a warning to the men holding Winston and Daniel. Then that sleazy bastard Vadim, I thought with disgust. As for Paul – well, I didn't want to kill him, but if he fought then I would have no choice.

All these thoughts ran through my head, clear as day, making perfect sense. But after a few minutes I was still standing there, and the knife was still in my hands, unused. _What's wrong with me_, I thought. _I never used to hesitate like this_. But I wasn't the same person I used to be. I had never wanted to kill a man again after hanging up my pistols a year ago. After Prague.

_No_, I told myself. _This is different. This is your only chance. You have to get out of here and get home, back to real life_. I stepped closer to the bed, the fist clutching the knife hovering over his throat. His chest rose and fell slowly with each breath, such a gentle, simple movement that seemed to render me completely incapable of violence. In the monochrome moonlight his skin was rendered in shades of grey, and the silvery line of a scar showed on his flat stomach. I remembered my last sight of him in the Strahov, looking up at me from that arena, willing to face that hideous creature alone. Perhaps the scar was a souvenir of that battle.

A wave of anger rushed over me suddenly. That hadn't been the real Kurtis that day in Prague, and I couldn't let myself become weak now. The real Kurtis was a lying, greedy, heartless killer and I could only be doing the world a favour by taking him out. I took another, final step forward and pressed the cold blade against his throat. He jolted awake and raised his head from the pillow, eyes blinking sleep away.

"What is –" he began, but stopped abruptly as he saw me. His eyes were wide in the dark, and we stared at each other for a few seconds, neither of us quite able to believe I was paying him this visit. I pushed the knife harder, enough to draw blood, but he just stared right back at me.

After a moment he spoke, just a single word, said without fear or anger.

"Lara."

I didn't say anything in return, just stayed exactly where I was, hand closed tight around the knife's handle to keep from trembling. I was breathing hard with the rage I felt, and although I tried to control it I felt ready to explode. Still I couldn't bring myself to finish the kill, and I realised that the anger was mostly aimed at myself, caused by my own weakness and stupidity when it came to this man.

"Sit up," I said eventually, my voice coming out barely above a whisper. I released the pressure slightly on his neck and he did as I said, raising himself up on his elbows and pulling the bedsheets closer to his body as he sat up fully. As my eyes wandered over his exposed flesh my mind reeled with the conflicting urges of hate and desire. I badly wanted to cause him pain, that much was still true; but I wanted him sexually, too, and that need was growing stronger with every passing moment. Perhaps the rage would have won out if I hadn't been so transfixed by his body. He was about as fine a specimen of the male physique as I had ever seen. And then there were those haunting eyes…

Keeping the knife firmly in place, I watched his eyes widen in surprise as I threw one leg over his and lowered myself onto the bed, kneeling astride his body with the weapon held between us. I placed my free hand on his chest, enjoying the sensation of his taut muscles beneath my fingertips, and from deeper within, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against my palm. Staring into his shadowed eyes, I reached around to the back of his head and twisted my fingers into his hair so hard that he breathed in sharply. He shivered as the tip of the blade moved slowly, almost seductively from his throat down over his chest and stomach.

"I could kill you in a thousand different ways," I whispered as the knife played over his defenseless body. I tilted his head back and lowered my face to his neck, listening to his breathing growing heavier as I trailed my tongue lightly over the soft skin of his throat.

He slid his hands up my thighs to my hips, and I held back a moan of pleasure as his thumbs brushed at the bare skin above my waistband. His hands encircled my waist, then froze for a split second as his fingers found the cold metal of the gun I had concealed in the back of my combats. I paused and withdrew my face from his neck, waiting to see what he would do next, my heart pounding with anticipation. He pulled the gun from my belt and brought it round to the front of my body. His eyes left mine momentarily as he glanced down at the weapon, and I saw a hint of a smile play at the corners of his mouth. I gazed back at him, unafraid, as he clicked off the safety on the pistol and pressed the barrel to my chest.

_What now?_ we seemed to ask each other silently. The answer was simple. As Kurtis pulled me further into his lap, bringing our bodies so close together that only our weapons and my clothes now came between us, I used the hand still gripping him by the hair to bring his face towards mine. Our mouths met in a kiss that was both passionate and aggressive. He withdrew his left hand from my waist and trailed it gently down my bare arm, making me shiver, until his strong fingers encircled my wrist and held it firmly. He was trying to relieve me of my weapon while I was distracted by his lips. _Well, two can play at that game_, I thought, not breaking from the kiss as I released his head from my other hand and reached for his right arm, the one holding the gun. He squeezed my wrist, trying to loosen my grip on the knife, and I mirrored his movements. My thumb pressed hard against his pulse as we wrestled slowly, testing each other's strength and resolve, our bodies held in balance by the matched efforts of our muscles. But suddenly I felt an invisible force shove against my solar plexus and that balance was lost. I was thrown backwards onto the bed, and in the confusion I lost my grip on both Kurtis and the knife. In a flash he was on top of me and his fingers wrapped around my lower arms, pinning me to the mattress.

"Cheat," I hissed, tugging uselessly against him, furious that he had used his telekinesis to get the better of me. _Well, what did you expect?_ said a voice in my head, and I realised that it was entirely my fault I was in this crazy situation. What the hell was I doing here?

My thoughts lost all clarity as Kurtis kissed me, pressing his body to mine as I writhed beneath him. My spine arched up towards him as though magnetised, my hips responding to his motions by pushing urgently against his. But despite my arousal, I still wanted to fight. With a sudden surge of energy I wrenched my arms free and shoved hard against his chest, pushing him back up onto his knees. He grabbed hold of my arm to steady himself, and then with his other arm around my waist he pulled me up so that we were both kneeling. As our lips locked again, his hands moved to my sides and up underneath my vest, dragging the fabric with them. Every motion of his fingers sent out ripples of electricity through my body, as though his skin was communicating with mine more directly that my brain could. I was amazed at how out of control I had become in just the last few moments. My body wanted to be with his, and it wouldn't have listened even if I'd tried to tell it to stop. My limbs were responding to his command now, not mine. Without conscious decision I raised my arms to let him strip off my top completely. I ran my hands over his bare torso, hungrily digging my fingertips into his warm flesh as he sought out and unfastened the clasp on my bra. I had to press my lips even harder against his to keep from moaning aloud as his hands moved over my breasts, and I reached lower, exploring his body as I'd always secretly wanted to, feeling the evidence of his own need for me.

There was no sign now of the resentment and malice that had tainted our encounters up to this point; only the intensity of our desire. It had always been there as a deep and powerful undercurrent, and here in the dark and the silence it was easy to forget the rest. As Kurtis peeled away my remaining clothes and pushed me down onto the bed I felt an overwhelming sense of inevitability, as though this moment – however brief and foolish it may be – was destined from the start. With the shared suspicion that this was to be our only chance, we threw everything into the exploration, making love with both violence and tenderness.

Afterwards, as our movements slowed and the sweat began to cool on our bodies, I lay back and closed my eyes, savouring the last of Kurtis' kisses and the delicious feel of his skin before he pulled away. He lay on his side and ran his hand gently up the length of my body, over my stomach, my chest and my throat. I looked at his shadowed face, soft and handsome, and wished that our moment could last a little longer. It was hard to believe that despite feeling so powerful, what had just happened didn't really change anything. The same dangers and duties awaited us outside this room. With this thought weighing on me, I rolled away from Kurtis and swung my feet onto the floor. I gathered up my scattered clothing and dressed in silence.

"So… what now?" Kurtis said quietly from behind me. I could hear the doubt in his voice.

I breathed in deeply before replying with a heavy heart. "Now, I leave. And I suppose we pretend this never happened."

I heard him get to his feet and walk towards me, and a moment later his hands were on my shoulders. He turned me around to face him, and lifted my face for one last kiss. I let my lips linger close to his for a long time, then pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Kurtis," I whispered.

"For what?"

In reply I raised my right hand and swung it lightning-fast towards his head, striking him hard across the temple with the butt of the gun I had picked up along with my clothes. His eyes opened wide in surprise, too late to react, and he toppled sideways to the floor. I stepped over him and paced quickly to the bed, where I retrieved the knife from the mess of crumpled sheets.

In the doorway I cast a single glance back at Kurtis, lying naked and unconscious on the carpet. There was nothing more I could do for him. My body could connect with his, but I couldn't save his soul. And now, it was time to get off this damn ship.

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**A/N:**Well, there you go... Lara's just a hot-blooded woman like anybody else; you all knew she couldn't hold out for long against someone that damn gorgeous! XD Hope the chapter was ok, I didn't want to make it too porny, but it still had to be sexy...your thoughts and comments will be greatly appreciated. Next chapter: things go a bit pear-shaped as Lara tries to make her escape. :)


	12. In Cold Blood

**Chapter 12: In Cold Blood**

I had intended to go after Gunderson first, but soon realised that I didn't know which room was his. Paul slept in the room opposite Kurtis', so I avoided that for the time being, but then it was a matter of guesswork. I would have to move – and kill – in absolute silence if I wanted to get out alive.

At the next room along, I stopped and tried the door in painstaking slow motion. Dark stillness awaited inside as I edged into the room, knife held out horizontally in my fist. Pushing away all thoughts of what had just occurred between Kurtis and myself, I padded over to the bed on my left. The dark, faintly snoring shape under the covers turned out to be Vadim. I stood over him for a moment, recalling the triumphant look on his fat features as he had groped me in the warehouse, and then without further hesitation I clamped one hand over his mouth and slit his throat with the other. His body twitched for no more than a couple of seconds, after which I removed my hand from his face and wiped the bloody knife on his sheets. It seemed I hadn't lost my ability to kill in cold blood after all.

Back in the corridor, I waited until my heart had slowed to its normal rate before continuing to the next door. Once again, it opened without hindrance, and I was surprised at how confident Gunderson's men were to leave their doors unlocked. I was even starting to convince myself that this escape was going to be easy, when I realised my first mistake. The room I was standing in was the study where Gunderson had set up office, and not a bedroom at all. I cursed myself silently for the foolish error, which had cost me vital time. As I stood with my back to the open door, a tiny sound in the corridor caused me to freeze where I stood, heart pulsing fast again as I listened for movement. And that was when my plan completely fell apart.

Orange light tore through the darkness, burning bright blue patches onto my retinas as my eyes struggled to adjust. I heard the sound of blades slicing through the air dangerously close by, and a split second later felt that same sharpness connect with the flesh of my upper arm. I let out a cry of pain and disbelief, and whirled to face the figure silhouetted in the doorway, grabbing his gun from my waistband and raising it towards him.

_Shit_, I thought, blood pumping in my ears. _He's more resilient than I thought_.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he asked, prowling slowly towards me. The weapon danced in the air beside my head, spitting flame like a Catherine wheel.

"Keep away from me," I warned, readying myself for action. I had no chance now of escaping through stealth, so my remaining options were to fight or surrender.

"Lara," he said, his voice low yet urgent. "Don't do this." I could see him more clearly now. He had pulled on his combats but his chest and feet were still bare, and on the right side of his face a trickle of fresh blood ran from hairline to jaw. He seemed angry but also anxious.

"Don't try to stop me." I levelled the gun at the spot dead between his eyes. "I'll kill you if I have to."

But my time had already run out. My shout of pain had ruptured the silence in the suite, and I was suddenly aware of heavy footsteps in the corridor. A heartbeat later the room was flooded with electric light. Blinded and disoriented, I kept the gun held out before me in defence, ready to shoot anyone that came close. But before I could even fully register the figure approaching, Gunderson's giant fist slammed into my stomach like a wrecking ball, knocking every scrap of breath from my lungs. I was thrown backwards into the wall by the agonising force of the blow, and slumped painfully to the floor. I drew my knees up reflexively and huddled there, coughing and fighting for air, my solar plexus screaming with pain. Gunderson's huge frame dominated the room, and beside him stood the smaller, narrower figure of Paul. I couldn't see Kurtis. More footsteps thudded down the hall, and a moment later a third figure entered the room.

"She killed Vadim," a rasping, thick-accented voice above me said. Gunderson growled an order, and through blurred, stinging eyes I saw boots approaching. Two pairs of rough hands grabbed me by the arms and wrenched me to my feet like a rag doll. Paul and the Russian dragged me between them towards Gunderson, who snatched my face in that huge hand and pushed it back so that I was squinting up into his eyes and the glare of the lights overhead. I waited for him to deliver another punch, or simply turn his wrist and snap my neck, but he just stared down at me.

"I would gladly kill you right now," he told me through gritted teeth. I didn't doubt it for a second. "But as you already know, you are needed alive. Well… so be it. I can still make you suffer."

He released my head and muttered an order in Russian. The two men pulled me over to the desk and shoved me down into the same chair I had occupied on the day I first arrived here. Gunderson stalked around to the other side of the desk and opened one of the drawers. He took out a mobile phone and quickly keyed in a number. As he spoke briskly into the handset, he gestured to the other men in the room with his free hand. The Russian lifted his gun to my temple while Paul obediently went to the desk and opened up the laptop. As I realised what was about to come, my heart stopped dead in my chest. Gunderson had been showing me footage of Daniel and Winston on this same machine every day since I arrived; the proof of life I had demanded in return for my compliance. Terrified of what was about to come, I shot to my feet, disregarding the gun pointed at my head.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, voice shaking with alarm.

"Hold her still," Gunderson commanded, breaking briefly from his telephone conversation. I felt Kurtis' hands close around my upper arms, pulling me down into the seat and pinning me there. I squirmed against his grip as I watched Paul open the video link. He positioned the computer where all of us in the room could see it, and then stood back, arms folded. After a moment a gloomy room showed on the screen, lit by a single bare bulb. The hostages were no longer at Croft Manor; they had been moved shortly after I arrived on the ship. I had no idea where this dingy cellar was, but I knew that the sight of it would be forever burned into my memory.

Gunderson continued speaking into the phone, and I felt the hands around my arms stiffen.

"Wait," Kurtis said from behind me. He sounded uneasy. "This isn't necessary."

"Keep out of this, Trent," Gunderson warned, still facing away with the handset held to his ear.

"I'll watch her myself from now on," Kurtis went on, trying to sound reasonable. "Sir, we don't want to leave this kind of a mess behind us-"

Gunderson turned now, his face livid. "Unless you would like the same done to you, I suggest you _keep out of it!"_ he bellowed. He said a few final words before snapping the phone closed and placing it back on the desk.

There was movement on the screen as a black-clad figure, his face covered by a balaclava, dragged another man out of the shadows and into the garish light in the middle of the room. It was Daniel. He was shoved into a folding chair beside a small table, and held in place just as I was being held here by Kurtis. Another figure, dressed like the first, walked into shot from behind the camera, and as he approached the table Daniel's face contorted in fear. A moment later I realised why, as the man turned to the camera and held up the item in his hand for us all to see. It was a machete.

"_No!"_ I cried out, the panic sharp in my voice. "Please, no, don't do this!" I strained against Kurtis' grip on my upper arms, desperate pleas tumbling from my lips, my eyes clouding once again with tears of dread. "Please, Gunderson, please, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't make them do this to him! He hasn't done anything wrong, it was my fault, punish _me_! Don't hurt him!" In response, Gunderson reached forward and turned up the sound on the speakers so that Daniel's own voice could be heard, his frantic pleading growing louder and louder as Gunderson twisted the volume dial to its maximum setting.

The man on screen wrestled Daniel's arm onto the table and held it there by the wrist with one of his gloved hands. With the other, he swung the machete up above his shoulder and brought it down swiftly onto Daniel's exposed forearm, eliciting a strangled scream. I shook with horror as his assailant wrenched the machete free with obvious effort. It had failed to cut cleanly through the arm, lodging instead against the bone. He struck twice more with similar effect as blood pooled on the table, spreading fast across its surface and spilling onto the floor.

I squeezed my eyes tightly closed as the final blow landed, severing Daniel's hand and wrist completely. He was no longer screaming, but was whimpering in pain and delirium, a sound even more devastating than his earlier cries. The fingers on his amputated hand gave one final twitch before lying lifeless in the spilt blood.

Without my being aware of it, at some point during the torture I had stopped begging Gunderson and had instead begun to curse him. My voice was no more than a hoarse whisper now, choked with rage and hatred, but the words continued to spill from me. "You evil son of a bitch, I'll kill you for this, I swear to God I'll fucking _kill you for this,_" I heard myself say from somewhere that seemed very distant.

As Gunderson walked around the desk towards me, Kurtis finally let go of my arms. My fingers were beginning to prickle with pins and needles from the lack of circulation. A hand on my shoulder signalled that I should get to my feet, but as soon as I did, Gunderson grasped me by the throat and lowered his face closer to mine. His eyes were like chips of granite, hard and heartless and cold.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking we are even, Croft," he said. "You took one of my men, and yet I spared yours. I should have taken his head. Make a single move without my permission, and I will." He released me with a shove, and I toppled to the ground. He had the strength of a bull, and a temperament to match.

"Get her out of here," Gunderson barked at Kurtis, who reached down and slid an arm under my shoulders before hauling me to my feet. He half-carried me out of the study and along the corridor to my bedroom, which I had hoped never to see again. Once inside, he flicked on the lights and turned to face me.

"I have to clean that wound," he said, gesturing to my upper arm. I glanced down at it, faintly registering surprise at how much it had bled. The whole length of my arm was red-brown with sticky gore, with rivulets reaching down as far as my knuckles. The gash was deep, but I hadn't even noticed the pain or bleeding through all the other horrors.

"Just leave me alone," I replied feebly, leaning against the wall. I really didn't care if I bled to death at that moment. But I was too weak to fight, and Kurtis steered me towards the bathroom and made me sit on the edge of the bathtub while he wet a towel in warm water.

I sat in dazed silence as he washed the congealing blood from my arm and dabbed at the wound. I could tell from the bright scarlet stains on the towel that it was still bleeding. Kurtis got up and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As the numbness abated I became aware that my entire abdomen was still throbbing awfully from where Gunderson had punched me. My head spun sickeningly. An image of the machete hacking into Daniel's arm floated up in my mind, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea. I staggered to the toilet and fell against it, retching into the bowl, my body spasming as though crushed in an invisible fist. The pain was unbearable.

Kurtis returned a minute later with bandages and a tube of antiseptic cream. He found me slumped on the floor by the toilet, my head sagging against the bowl, fighting back another wave of sickness. He reached over and flushed the toilet, then crouched down and moved me until I was sitting with my back supported by the wall. I sat there with my face slack and expressionless and he tended to my injury, and didn't even wince when he smeared ointment onto the raw flesh or wound the bandage tightly around my arm. As he knelt in front of me, I noticed a series of parallel red marks on his naked chest, left by my fingernails earlier that night. How distant and impossible that now seemed. Was this night even real? I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly, willing the world to be different when I opened them again.

Kurtis went over to the washbasin and poured cold water into a glass tumbler from the shelf. He crouched down again and handed me the glass, insisting that I drink. The cool liquid helped to soothe my burning throat and wash away the bitterness, which was a small comfort. I put the empty glass down on the floor beside me and let my head hang down, heavy with exhaustion. Still, I could feel Kurtis watching me.

"God Lara, what were you _thinking_?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "You can't just walk out of here. Don't you realise who these people are?"

I slowly rolled my eyes upward to meet his, gazing at him in weary disbelief. "These people?" I repeated, my cracked voice barely a whisper. "_You're_ these people, Kurtis. You've done this to me. To him."

He had no reply for this, and after a moment he got up and left me alone again. A little while later I managed to drag myself out of the bathroom and into bed, and as I lay there staring into the dark I wondered if I could ever be forgiven for the mistakes I had made tonight.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, after a nice, sexy chapter, you have to have a mean, nasty chapter. ;) And I had to do something for the Daniel-haters out there! But spare a thought for poor Lara. She's fond of him, for some reason. Huge thanks once again to everyone who has continued to read and review, I love you all! Nothing cheers me up like a nice review landing in my mailbox.


	13. Cabin Fever

**A/N:** looks sheepish Hello... This is my first new chapter in over a year, so I owe all my readers an apology for the insanely long wait. Thanks for the patience and poking. I hope you can still remember what was happening in the story. Last chapter Lara tried and failed to escape, and had to watch her boyfriend having his hand chopped off as punishment - funny that none of you seemed to be overly concerned about that... poor old Daniel). So the brief moment of passion that she and Kurtis shared seems to be history. For now, at least. ;)

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**Chapter 13: Cabin Fever**

The next morning Kurtis and Paul visited me. I had barely slept, too haunted by ghastly images of Daniel's torture to be able to rest my mind. And then there was the guilt, coiled like a viper in the pit of my already throbbing stomach. If I did manage to get out of this situation alive, I didn't see how either Daniel or Winston could ever look me in the eye again. I tried to tell myself over and over that I wasn't to blame, that it was Gunderson's men who had brought this down on all of us, but I couldn't shake off the sick, cold feeling that if it weren't for me, my friends would be safe and happy.

I had been lying on my back staring blankly at the ceiling for some time, but when I heard the door to my room open, I quickly turned over and pretended to be asleep. If there was any chance I could be left alone, it was worth a try.

I was out of luck, again. A hand reached over and shook my shoulder, sending a twinge of pain through my bandaged upper arm.

"Get up," Kurtis said.

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to summon the energy necessary to move and face my enemy yet again. He took the hesitation to mean that I was either still asleep or being difficult, and started to drag me towards the edge of the bed. I sat up quickly, struggling.

"Get off me," I hissed, slapping his arms away. He backed off, but only by a single step. I looked up to see Paul standing behind him, looking grim. Both men were armed, gunmetal gleaming dangerously in their shoulder holsters.

"Are we going somewhere?" I asked, slowly getting to my feet. I was still dressed in my clothes from the night before, the vest and combats streaked with blood from my arm wound.

Kurtis laughed coldly, without a trace of humour. "No. You're not going anywhere again, not until we get to Egypt." He beckoned to Paul to hand him something. I saw a length of rope, and sank even deeper into despair.

"Move to the end of the bed and give me your arms," Kurtis ordered.

"Can I at least use the bathroom first?" I replied, glaring at him.

He stared back, eyes cool and blank. "Not unless you want me to come with you."

I decided to concede the point this time. I didn't particularly need to use the toilet, but I could have done with a wash. Hate pouring from my eyes, I reluctantly walked to the foot of the bed and waited.

"Now sit down, and try to make yourself comfortable."

I sat cross-legged on the end of the bed and held out my arms. Kurtis placed my hands between the bars of the highly polished brass bedstead, and then set to work twining the rope around my wrists.

"Is this really necessary?" I said. "I'm not going to try anything again." I glanced up at him and spoke quietly. "I won't risk my friends' lives any further. You have my word."

"No choice," Kurtis replied, twisting the cord tightly around the metal bars. "Our orders were… painfully clear." There was something veiled in that remark, a hint of resentment towards his boss. I wondered if he had been punished for trying to intervene the night before. He had spoken out against Gunderson's order to torture Daniel. I looked over at Paul. His normally casual manner was gone, and he seemed silent and severe. Maybe he, too, had received some harsh words after behaving in such a friendly manner towards me.

"How long until we reach Egypt?" I asked sullenly, wincing as Kurtis pulled a knot tight around my wrists, crushing them against the brass bar between them. He didn't answer, seemingly distracted by his task. He paused for a moment, staring at my forearms, and when I followed his gaze I saw what he had noticed there – faint bruises, the impressions that his fingers had left on my flesh the night before when he had pinned me down on his bed. My face reddened with the rush of shame – and other feelings – that the memory unleashed.

"We dock in Alexandria in two more days," Paul said, and my attention snapped back.

"And then what?"

Kurtis straightened up and made brief eye contact with Paul, but decided to ignore my question. I was tired of being kept in the dark.

"I want to know," I said. "Where we're going, and what we're looking for. I should be prepared."

He thought about it for a moment before speaking. "Later," he said at last.

"You're just leaving me here like this?" I asked in exasperation as they turned to leave the room.

"That's right," Kurtis replied, and the door clicked shut behind him.

He was back a few hours later, with food and water for me. Despite my awkward position I had managed to fall into a light sleep, curled up on my side around where my hands poked out, still tethered to the bedpost. I maneuvered myself upright, flexing my numbed fingers, and looked at the tray he was holding out.

"I don't want it," I said wearily.

"Why not?"

"I'm not hungry." I didn't want to tell him that my stomach was still so sore from Gunderson's punch that I could barely hold food down.

"No?" He set the tray down beside me on the bed and went to fetch the chair from the dressing table. He placed it opposite me and sat down, leaning forward to untie my hands. "Too bad, you have to eat."

"Can't you just crawl off and die somewhere?" I asked, exhaustion creeping into my voice. I clenched and unclenched my fists several times as the blood started to flow back down my arms – and with it, the pain. I glanced at the tray. The dry-looking sandwiches didn't appeal to me, but the bottle of water did. I twisted off the cap and took a deep drink while Kurtis sat staring at me.

"So are you going to tell me about this 'mission' or not?" I said once I had slaked my thirst.

He sat back, propping one foot on the brass bedstead. "Once we dock in Alexandria, we head down to Cairo, and from there to a site on land owned by El-Aziz. He's been keeping very quiet about the dig he's doing there, even when he was trying to impress you, but we know he's excavating a series of tombs that once formed part of a temple that _we_ want to get into."

"A temple to who?"

"The goddess Sekhmet."

"Sekhmet… So we're going to Memphis?" The city that had in ancient times been the beating heart of Egypt was also the seat of worship of the Triad of Memphis – Sekhmet, Ptah and their son Nefertum.

"What was once Memphis, yeah. You been there before?"

"Yes." My heart was sinking slowly into my stomach. Our destination was only a short distance south of Cairo, mere miles from the Great Pyramid at Giza where I had almost lost my life. When I thought of being near that place again, it was as though the blood chilled in my veins. "What are we looking for?"

"Anything we can get our hands on," Kurtis replied, oblivious to my growing dread. "But in particular some kind of staff that was used by Sekhmet's head priest. That's what our employer wants the most, and it'll probably be hidden in the deepest part."

"Deepest meaning the most difficult to reach, I suppose?"

"Right."

"How much do you know about Sekhmet?"

"Very little," he conceded with a shrug. "Ancient history isn't exactly my strongest subject."

"So you don't know that she was a war goddess, the punisher of men, and bringer of plague and pestilence?"

"Sounds like a riot. What's your point?"

"My point is that she won't let us into the heart of her temple easily. There are bound to be traps and dangers like you can't even imagine."

"Well then we'd better stay on our toes. Lucky for both of us that you're an expert in doing just that."

An expert? Did he have any idea what had happened to me the last time I visited Egypt? For months after returning to England I could hardly stand to be in the dark, crushed by claustrophobia and the waking nightmares it brought. Last year's adventures in Paris and Prague had taken me one step away from my fears, but when I pictured myself standing at the mouth of an Egyptian tomb, looking into that stale and ancient darkness so close to the shadow of the pyramids, I felt paralysed once more.

"What about this staff?" I said, trying not to dwell on the fear. "What do you know about it?"

"Again, very little. It's been buried down there for thousands of years, so no one knows much beyond rumour. It might not even exist, but I hope for our sakes that it does."

"And what does your employer want with it?"

"It's not my job to ask those questions. But one thing I do know – before you get too hung up on the plague and pestilence – this staff is supposed to have healing properties."

I looked out of the window at the sea and thought about this for a while, chewing on my lip in silence. It was possible that he was telling me the truth; Sekhmet's priests were the medicine men of their time, expert surgeons and healers. Their patron goddess could grant men protection from disease as well as wielding it as a weapon against them. Since a lot of today's wealth lay in the pharmaceutical industry, it was plausible that Gunderson's employer came from such a background. But there was more wealth in the weapons trade, and owning a plague would be just as valuable to men in power as owning the cure. I had been naive in the past, and learnt from too many gross errors of judgment to believe now that any good would come of unearthing this staff.

"You're making a big mistake," I murmured, still staring out at the grey waves rolling by.

"We know what we're doing."

"How reassuring." I looked at him, struck yet again by how different he had become. "Is this what you were trained for, Kurtis? Kidnap, torture or whatever else you're told to do, without ever questioning it?" I was angry now, and wanted to get underneath his cold shell with my venom. "Your father would have been so proud."

I saw a twitch of rage in his features, and for a split second it seemed he might lash out, but he held himself back. "You don't know anything about me, Lara."

"I know you're Lux Veritatis," I said.

"I am," he replied evenly. "But that doesn't really mean anything any more."

"It must have meant something once," I went on. "And it meant something in Prague. When you were trying to bring Eckhardt to justice for what he did to your father."

"Yes. But that's over now. And sooner or later everything goes back to normal. You went back home, got nice and cosy again, got yourself a boyfriend. And I went back to work."

"I didn't go back to normal," I argued. "I wasn't the same after what happened with Eckhardt and Karel. When I went home, I made changes in my life. I suppose I don't forget as easily as you do."

"I don't know what you're trying to do here Lara," he said. "But if you're trying to seek out the little bit of good in my soul, then you may as well save your breath. This is who I've been for a very long time, and I'm not about to change."

"You're such an idiot. Don't you realise that this isn't just a job? Whoever Gunderson is working for isn't sending us to Egypt so that he can make the world a nicer place. They're after some kind of war, just like Eckhardt, just like every other maniac I've met over the years. People like that need to be stopped."

"So I'm working for the bad guys?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Let me tell you something, Croft. This world is full of bad guys. And everybody works for them. Police, armies, banks, governments. Every bastard is just looking for an advantage over every other bastard. And as much as you want to, you'll never really make a difference. People will always hate each other and kill each other. Haven't you killed more than your fair share?"

"Go to hell," I muttered.

"No, tell me. How many people have you killed, doing what you thought was right?As I recall you killed a man just last night, while he slept. Did you stop to think about whether he had a wife or children before you slit his throat? When people do what they think is right, all they're really looking for is self-preservation. People don't want to save the world. They want to save themselves."

I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to show how his words had shaken me. "I never claimed to be an angel, Kurtis. I know better than anyone that the world isn't all black and white. But I least I know the difference between a good career move and a suicidal one."

"Right," he said. He took a pack of cigarettes from a pocket in his combats, and tapped it against his palm. "So last night was a good career move?" His voice was hushed, and I knew he wasn't just referring to my escape attempt.

He held my gaze as he took out a lighter and held the flame to his cigarette. After a moment my shame forced me to look away. I heard him pull his chair closer to the foot of the bed, and smelt the smoke on him as he leaned towards my ear.

"Did you screw me because you thought I might help you get away?" His voice was soft and slow. "Or was it because you could see the good, caring person deep down inside me?"

"Neither," I replied, looking him straight in the eye. "I saw something I wanted, and I took it. I've always been impulsive," I went on with a slight shrug. "Don't flatter yourself that it was anything more complicated than that."

He smiled a little. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

"Believe me, I won't make the same mistake again," I replied bitterly.

We could fire words back and forth all day and never admit the truth of the matter, which was that despite the overwhelming insanity of it, we had wanted each other. The only honesty we had shown one another was last night, in his bed.

I shook my head to dislodge the memory. I couldn't look into those unblinking eyes for another moment while we were both picturing the night before.

Kurtis took a long drag on his cigarette before speaking again. "So, are you gonna eat that?" He gestured at the plate beside me.

"No."

"Suit yourself." He placed the cigarette between his lips and moved forward to tie my hands again. Reflexively I tried to pull away, but he gripped my wrists tightly and started to bind the rope back around them. His handling of me was rougher than earlier, perhaps as punishment for my mentioning his father, but I no longer cared about the pain. Once he had finished, Kurtis took the untouched food and left without another word.

I spent the rest of the voyage that way, locked in my room with my misery. The confinement made me restless, and so did the dread. It grew within me like a storm cloud on the horizon, darkening with every mile that dropped away between the ship and its destination. I was no longer granted sight of Daniel or Winston. Instead I had to rely on the word of my captors that they were still alive. And beneath all my fears, memories were stirring of primal things that I had never wanted unearthed. Destiny was drawing me to Sekhmet, waiting for me to uncover her secrets, and she mine.


End file.
